My servant, Catherine.

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CH MY SERVANT,

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CATHERINE

ARRIGO LEVASTI

Translated by
DOROTHY M. WHITE

THE NEWMAN PRESS
WESTMINSTER, MARYLAND

MY SERVANT, CATHERINE is the English translation
of Santa Caterina da Siena , published in the original Italian
by Unione Tipografico-Editrice, Turin

Nihil Ohstat: Hubcrtus Richards, s.t.l., l.s.S.

Censor deputatus

Imprimatur: E. Morragh Bernard
Vic. Gen.

Westmonasterii , die 24 a Fehruarii , 1954

SCHOOL OP THEOLOGY
AT CLAREMONT

C*lif<

•ornia

PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
BY THE DITCHLING PRESS LTD, HASSOCKS,
SUSSEX

CONTENTS

Page

Translator’s Foreword vii

I

The Family of Giacomo di Benincasa

i

II

‘Childhood and Youth’

5

III

First Social and Apostolic Activity

4 6

IV

Siena in the Fourteenth Century

85

V

The Winner of Souls

96

VI

Her Disciples Increase

127

VII

The Stigmata

155

VIII

Avignon

215

IX

Inter Odia Caritas

234

X

The Book

281

XI

Catherine in Rome

312

XII

Her Death

380

Bibliography

397

v

TRANSLATOR’S FOREWORD

This is the English translation of Arrigo Levasti’s book, Santa
Caterina da Siena, which was published in Turin in 1947. It has
already been translated into French and German, and acclaimed
as a work of outstanding scholarship and profound piety. Only
the translators can know how arduous has been the attempt to
render in another language something of the sober elegance of
the author’s Italian prose.

Arrigo Levasti was bom in Modena in 1886 and at an early age
wandered on foot over the countries of Western Europe, an eager
student of the art and culture of the various peoples he visited. He
studied at the University of Bologna, where he attended the
lectures of Carducci, and at the University of Florence.

Consistently anti-Fascist from the beginning to the end of the
Fascist era, he could take no prominent position in Italian public
life, but was well known as a student and teacher of religion and
philosophy, with a specialised knowledge of subjects connected
with mysticism. He has contributed to various Italian, French and
German religious and philosophical journals, and to the Domini¬
can Review The Life of the Spirit . For twenty years he was Director
of the Philosophical Society of Florence, and he still lives in
Florence, as Librarian of the American Library.

Among his published works are: I Mistici, an anthology of
mystical writers of the world (Florence 1925); a new edition of a
14th-century text of the Leggenda Aurea of Jacopo da Voragine
(Florence, 1926); Sant ’ Anselmo (Bari 1929) and I Mistici del
Duecento e del Trecento (Milan 1935), an anthology of Italian
mystics of the 13th and 14th centuries, with Introduction and
Notes.

Santa Caterina is the creation of a lifetime of devoted study, and
was completed during the most critical years of the last war, when
the author was living in hiding in a Villa near Siena. In the Intro¬
duction he speaks with gratitude of his wife, who succeeded in
preserving around him ‘a serene atmosphere, in moments of
anxiety and danger’.

For more detailed information the reader is referred to the
Dizionario della Letteratura Italiana (Paravia, Turin, 1951) compiled
by Renda-Operti, pp. 624-625.

vii

D.W.

Chapter I

THE FAMILY OF GIACOMO DI BENINCASA

As far as we know, Catherine was born in 1347. She was the
twenty-third child, and a twin. A twenty-fifth and last child, also
a girl, was born about two years later. We know very little about
this enormous family.

The father, Giacomo di Bcnincasa, earned quite a good living
as a dyer, was a peaceful and pious man, and exercised a sober and
serene influence over his family. Understanding both the good
and evil aspects of life, he always tried to find reasonable solutions
for problems in dispute, was ever ready to forgive offences,
mindful of God, and eager to deserve his place in Paradise. In
1346 he took his son Benincasa into partnership, and in 1368 he
died and was buried in Camporegio.

The mother, Lapa, was daughter to Nuccio Piacenti, a quilt
maker and poet. If the poems attributed to him are authentic,
nothing of the melancholy that inspires them, nothing of their
preciosity, was inherited by his daughter; but we may find the
impulsive nature of Lapa, or even more, of Catherine herself, in
the following lines:

E sento amor che fuor di me s’avventa
Per si gran forza che mi vince tutto,

Che nol posso tenere . . .

[And I feel love breaking out of me,

With its strength overwhelming me—

So that I cannot hold it in . . .]

Lapa was bom in 1306, was married, according to Laurent,
between 1322 and 1325, and up to the year 1349 had such a
succession of annual childbirths that she could only feed one of
her children, and that one was Catherine. A woman of the people,

1

2 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

she often reproached her family violently and offensively, but she
was a worthy hard-working woman. Immersed in her own daily
round, she did not waste time in abstract discussions; she saw the
world as a perpetual breeding-ground of numerous, prosperous
and well-regulated families. She had common sense, a modest
piety and a commonplace morality. It never occured to her to
try to control herself or to improve her nature. She was a creature
of instinct, sad or gay, scolding or blessing as she suffered or
rejoiced. An excessive talker, she was extravagant in feeling and
her enthusiasms were as facile as her rages. Even when in her old
age she became a Tertiary, she was neither patient nor detached
from worldly considerations. She loved her children according
to the flesh and ‘took little things for big ones’. Her tenderness
for her own children was extravagant, as Catherine was to tell
her. In her impatience she was subject to depression and grief;
she always wanted everything her own way. She would put up
with her children’s absence if they had left home to pursue wealth,
but not if they had gone in search of spiritual activity. But she
was good at heart, and succeeded in understanding others in the
end, even if tardily and with difficulty, and, after grumbling,
gave way to their wishes. That is why she became devout, and as
an old woman, entered the Order and followed her holy daughter,
whom she admired and revered. She survived Catherine and,
according to Raimondo da Capua, lived to be eighty-nine.

In Catherine’s life her brothers and sisters play a very minor
part and, except for her sister Bonaventura, they move in the
background as colourless figures who seem to have no influence
over her, and do not help us to understand her. We do not even
know the names of some of them, either because they died in
infancy, or because no document records them. Of some the
names only survive—of others we know a few facts.

Benincasa was the first bom. He was a dyer too, and in 1346 was
taken into partnership by his father. Unlike his brother Bartolo,
he belonged to the ‘popolo minuto’. For political or economic
reasons he moved to Florence, and, with his brothers, was granted
citizen’s rights, by seventy-eight favourable votes to twenty-
eight adverse. We do not know the name of his wife, who bore
him several sons and daughters, but we know that one daughter
died of the plague in Siena on August 5th, 1374. Three sons,

THE FAMILY OF GIACOMO DI BENINCASA 3

Sandro, Jacopo, and Andrea, were admitted to the Guild of Wool
Workers in Florence on May 17th, 1391.

Bartolo was a follower of the Twelve, and according to the
Comtesse dc Flavigny, was one of the defenders of Siena in 1370,
and later on in the same year we hear of him in Florence, where he
was granted Florentine citizenship with his brothers Benincasa
and Stefano. He also was a dyer, and worked with his brothers
and their partner; but his affairs went so ill that in October 1373
the Commune of Florence demanded from Siena the payment
of 875 florins, 6 soldi and 10 denari for his creditors. He died of
the plague in Siena shortly before his children.

Stefano was not much older than Catherine. He also was a
dyer, and belonged to the ‘popolo minuto’, and he too left Siena
to become a Florentine citizen. He worked with his brothers, and
endured the same hardships as Benincasa and Bartolo. In 1370 he
was with them in Florence; in October of 1373 the Priors of the
Guilds and the Gonfalonicre ofjustice of the Florentine Commune
declared him to be a ‘deceased brother’. Perhaps he died in Rome,
as Piero di Giovanni di Ventura tells us, during a pilgrimage to
procure the indulgences attached to visits to the Basilicas and
Sanctuaries of the City.

Not much is known of Catherine’s sisters. Giovanna, her twin,
died soon after birth, and another Giovanna, the last born, died
and was buried in April 1363. Niccoluccia married a certain
Palmerio di Nese delle Fonti, and Maddalena married Bartolomeo
di Vannino. Nora is said to have died of the plague in 1374.

As far as Catherine is concerned, the most important figure is
Bonaventura—the eldest sister, attractive, good, affectionate and
pious. She married the dyer, Niccolo de’ Tegliacci, and lived near
the Gate of Sant’ Ansano, remaining in constant touch with her
old home. The author of the ‘Miracoli’ says that ‘she had been
vain and pleasure-loving like all young women’, and represents
her almost as a frivolous character. O11 the contrary, she was
serious-minded. She nearly fell sick with dismay when she heard
her husband’s ribald jests with his men friends—for in her parents’
house she had never heard such language. She said so frankly to
Niccolo, adding that if this behaviour continued she would sicken,
and might die of grief. No doubt she loved adornments and fine
clothes—but in this she was within her rights. An excellent wife,

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

4

a loving daughter and sister—why should she not appear young
and pleasing? Her religion did not forbid her to adorn herself,
or to make herself beautiful. And she probably advised her younger
sister to take pains about her person and adornments, to be grace¬
ful and charming—showing her how to gild her hair, and rouge
her cheeks, how to appear agile and fresh and alluring. Catherine
too was to be married—such was the natural order of things—
then why not teach her to be pretty and elegant and pleasing?
Such teachings could not fail to draw still closer the bonds of
love between the sisters. Bonaventura and Catherine loved each
other ‘most tenderly’. Such was their mutual understanding and
affection that when in August 1362 Bonaventura died in child¬
birth and was buried in Camporegio, her death left a blank in
Catherine’s soul—a sense of loss great enough to cause a profound
religious crisis.

The biographers give us no account of the family life of the
Benincasa, but we can imagine their way of life was orderly,
hard-working, honest, prepared for some sacrifices, ruled by a
sense of justice and some piety, but also a natural anxiety for
material welfare.

Nothing outstanding or unusual about them. One of those
numberless families of whom, once gone, no one ever speaks
again, unless, as in this case, some extraordinary being is born in
their midst.

Chapter II

‘CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH’

St Catherine of Siena was born in no happy time for her native
city. The year 1338, the ‘peaceful and happy year’ of the Sienese
Republic, declined and ended. The next year the rising cost of
living, together with an epidemic, drained the city of men and
resources. ‘In Siena there was not a single good man left’, remarks
Angelo di Tura sententiously. But from then onwards, until the
great ‘Death’ of 1348, misfortunes, destruction, famine and
pestilence followed one another. The seasons were adverse and the
crops poor, the farmers left the fields untended, the mercenary
‘Companies of Fortune’ overran and laid waste the countryside,
right up to the gates of Siena; the citizens chose to pay them
ransom money rather than fight. In the city the famished popu¬
lace revolted, but their clamours and rebellion were of no avail.
Trade shrank, industry was at a standstill; the excellent Govern¬
ment of the Nine tried to help, to direct, to control where neces¬
sary, but it had no longer its old energy or political wisdom, and
had only a few more years to live.

When, in April 1348, there was a violent outbreak of the black
plague within the city itself, death came to almost every door,
and those who were unscathed were ‘stupified’ with grief at the
endless succession of deaths, and whenever possible fled terrified
from parents, children, brothers, sisters, friends.

When we read in the Chronicles the brief vivid descriptions of
this scourge in Siena, or in other cities of Italy, we shudder with
fear even more than when reading the pages of Boccaccio: fear
of fear itself, because the survivors were so terrified that they
committed the most cowardly acts. No affection or sense of duty
prevailed with men who seized upon any excuse to leave their
next of kin a prey to their sickness, and escaped from the

5

6 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

house, locking the door behind them. The doctors did not attend
the sick, or merely pretended to attend them so as to pocket their
fees; the priests, at most, ministered only to the rich, for reward.
There must have been acts of charity, unselfishness and courage,
but most people thought only of saving themselves. ‘The city of
Siena seemed almost uninhabited ... it is not possible with the
tongue of man to describe this horrible state of affairs, and he may
well count himself blessed who saw it not.’

The reaction that followed such widespread suffering may
easily be understood. When the plague ended, men issued forth
from the domain of terror. Everything they saw or heard seemed
new-born. Was this a dream, or was the dream over now? Were
the people one met really the living? And were the houses and
streets really the same as a few weeks before? Everything seemed
miraculous. The hills green with ilexes or silvery with olives
shone with new light. The orchards and fields had a freshness never
before observed, the sun was brighter, the air more clear. Life was
good and to be enjoyed. The past months had been full of bitter
tears; now for laughter and merriment. The suffering had been
atrocious, but now was the time to rejoice to the full. Men’s eyes,
once dilated with despair, beamed with joy, for existence was safe
again.

Class distinctions were wiped out, and as before all had shared in
suffering, so now all shared in the pursuit of pleasure. ‘All the
survivors, whether friars, priests, nuns, or layfolk, gave themselves
up to enjoyment, and did not hesitate to squander and to gamble;
everyone indulged in eating and drinking, hunting, fowling and
gambling.’

Life’s flame leapt higher. The senses must rule; the dead, suffer¬
ing, morality, religion—all must be forgotten; life must renew
itself in the satisfaction of repressed desires.

A class of ‘new rich’ had sprung up. Doctors, pharmacists,
grave-diggers, poultry-dealers, dealers in cloth and linen to en¬
shroud the dead, woolworkers, those who had prepared plasters
and potions of mallows, nettles and herbs, sugar and sweet
merchants, priests, friars—all who had survived, and these were
less than half the population—had money to spare, for they had
been paid for their services or their goods ten times their usual
price, and now they were eager to spend their easy profits in

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 7

satisfying their every whim. They coveted the pleasures of the
rich, their possessions, their way of life, their amusements.

Such moral disorder, however, could not last long. Gradually
the turbulent passions subsided, the wasted energies needed calm
to recreate themselves, the indulgence of the senses brought satiety.
Men went back to reflecting and reasoning; order was restored,
life resumed its natural course with its barriers and limitations.

Catherine’s family, or most of them, had survived the famine and
the plague. Catherine, nursed in her babyhood by her own mother,
was cared for and brought up at home. Since October 1346 the
family had occupied the house and dye-works in the parish of
San Pellegrino, in the Fontebranda ward of the city. The little
girl grew up lively, pretty and attractive, rather talkative, and
with an understanding beyond her years. The neighbours admired
her, and called her Euphrosyne, probably because she often spoke
enthusiastically of this virgin, about whom she had heard in a
sermon, or in old tales of the Saints—or because she used to say
that she wanted to be like Euphrosyne herself. She soon learned
her prayers, and showed an awakening piety. As she went up and
down the stairs of her house she would recite Hail Marys and
genuflect at every step, according to an ancient Irish custom that
had spread to Siena.

'The churches attracted her; ‘when she was still very small she
loved to go to the churches and all holy places’. The various ser¬
vices, the incense, music, singing and the sermons worked on her
childish spirit; we can imagine her, full of wonder, following the
liturgical rites and delighting in the sweet response they aroused
in the rhythm of her own soul. In church she must already have
felt, even if confusedly, that there was another and loftier life
than that of the family, while earth and heaven mingled in her
childish imagination. This is an enchanted mood we often find in
children of every age, and sometimes it determines their future
vocation, but often marks but a passing phase.

Catherine’s mind was, however, naturally religious, and what
she felt as a little child was not at all a momentary experience, but
the natural development of her spiritual life. Soon there were out¬
ward signs of her innermost feelings, and at the age of seven she
had her first vision: ‘It happened one day when she was seven
years old that her mother called her, saying: “Catherine, go to your

8 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

married sister and take your brother with you”—(this brother
was a httle older than Catherine) and she gave her an errand. Now
one stretch of the road was without houses on either side. As she
came back along this lonely stretch, her brother being some way
in front of her, she was walking with her eyes raised to the sky
when suddenly she saw in the air, not very high above the ground,
a “loggia”, not very large, full of bright light, in which she seemed
to see Christ arrayed in dazzling white, robed like a bishop, with
a pastoral staff in His hand. He smiled at the little girl, and there
came from Him a shaft of light, like a sunbeam, which fell upon
her. Behind Christ stood several men in white, all of them Saints,
among them St Peter, St Paul and St John, as she had seen them
painted in the churches/

For Catherine this was an extraordinary vision. As we consider
it coolly and from a distance, we see how attentively she must
have observed her painted Saints, and how constantly her thoughts
were set on holy things, but the child who experienced the vision
must have been aware of the supernatural flooding into her soul.

It happens sometimes that concrete things actually seen are
transposed or superimposed on abstract ideas that have been the
subject of thought. The Christ who appeared before her in infinite
splendour may have proceeded from her memory of painted
Christs that she had seen. So may the bishop, though he may also
have been a child’s idealised image of a bishop seen during the
services in the Cathedral of Siena, his pastoral staff in his hand, and
his robes shining in the glimmer of the lighted candles. For us this
explanation is possible, but the person who sees the vision, and all
the more so when this is a little girl of seven, cannot but believe in
a supernatural vision. Which of us, moreover, at the sudden sight
of such radiant sunlight, with such dazzling whiteness and far-
flung splendour, would not be struck with wonder and believe
himself to be affected by some other-worldly phenomenon? We
can therefore understand the astonishment of Catherine’s soul, and
why she could not tear herself away from her vision.

Her brother, seeing that she did not follow him, turned back,
called her, went up to her and angrily shook her, to make her
answer him. She only said: ‘Go away. I will not come.’ The little
girl looked up to the sky again, but the vision had gone. The
childish soul felt a pang at this brusque re-awakening to every-

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH

9

day life; fear gripped her heart, and she was very thoughtful.

How much influence did this vision have on Catherine’s life?
Probably she owed to it her first awareness of her future religious
life. The child meditated on her vision and on its consequences.
Was it good or evil ? For some time she mentioned it to no one,
but her thoughts were always there. ‘And from that hour onwards,
she felt pain in her heart, an anxiety, a remorse of conscience,
and a fear lest she should sin, as much as was possible at her tender
age.’ Scruples, vague doubts, fears, hopes, relaxations, all were
now felt with relation to her vision. There was something new,
something more mature, in her, and the smile of Christ, more felt
than seen, had predestined her to prayer and penitence.

At once she sought solitude, the primary need of all creators.
In solitude problems are solved, ideals take shape, inspirations are
bom, in contact with the eternal and the infinite. All sublime
poetry, all decisive philosophy, is bom in solitude. Catherine felt
this instinctively, without being consciously aware of it. She was
only a child, she hoped that Christ would appear to her again,
would smile again, perhaps speak—but in public she would have
been ill at ease, so she wanted to be alone. And she wanted to pray.
Prayer did not then mean to her strife, self-control, intimate
contrition, but concentration. And concentration only came in
solitude. ‘And she always contrived to be alone, whenever she
could seize a moment to escape from the eyes of her father and
mother and other kin, to recite her Paternosters and Ave Marias.’

The solitude she found amid her family was not enough. She
wanted every hour for herself, to pray and meditate without end.
Had there not been hermits, masters of their own time and
entirely dedicated to prayer and holy colloquies? She had often
heard of hermits and anchorites. The ‘Fathers of the Desert’, or
their lives in ‘The Golden Legend’, were the favourite spiritual
pasture of the devout of her day, and contained the ‘exempla’
quoted by the preachers. These lives were attractive, aroused
desire, tearful sympathy, enthusiasm. Their obscurities suggested
mystery, their disregard of natural laws delighted the imagination.
A sense of kindness, of humanity, was not lacking. Their mixture
of profane and sacred, of real and ideal, adventurous and contem¬
plative, atrocious and touching, with colour effects now dark,
crude or heavy, now light, golden or evanescent, charmed the

10 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

mediaeval mind. These Lives often contained praises of solitude,
which was just what Catherine was looking for—so she was more
and more taken with this idea. The tales heard in sermons or
readings become so suffused with her own imagination that she
thought of them as her own experiences. She decided to put into
practice her ideal of living a hermit’s life.

One day she took a little bread and set out again on the road
to her sister Bonaventura’s house, and went on beyond the Gate
of Sant’ Ansano. In her little head was the notion that out there
was the desert, and that one might live there as a hermit. When
the buildings ceased and she found herself in the open country
she walked a little further, and behold! ‘certain little dells and
grottoes as if hidden from people’s gaze’. For her this was the
desert, and here she must stay. She went to an overhanging cliff,
and entered a sort of grotto. Now she was happy! With ‘a fervour
of measureless love’ she prayed to Christ—but the vision did not
return. She prayed and prayed again: still solitude and silence—no
vision. She appealed to the Virgin, the gentle Madonna whose
image on the altars she had so often venerated, who can obtain
from God all that she wills—still no answer to her desire. Her love
found still more powerful expression, her pleadings became more
insistent. Why did Christ not appear? Why could she not rejoice
in that smile that still lingered in her memory? Where was that
radiance that had shone in Vallepiatta but a short while ago? She
had moments of absolute faith, others of discouragement. Prayers
gave place to meditation, then to a consideration of her own state,
then to hope and prayer once more. Between her prayers she
ate her bread, seated on the ground. Her burning ardour was
followed by an imploring appeal to be allowed to see Christ
again, radiant as before. But instead of the vision something
quite unexpected happened. Little by little Catherine felt herself
raised above the ground, and, according to Raimondo da Capua,
up to the roof of the grotto. Why? What did this mean? It was a
phenomenon of levitation that she could not possibly understand;
in fact it aroused her diffidence and fear. She thought it was the
work of the devil. When she returned to the ground her simple
childish confidence had gone. The reality of living seized her once
more. It was evening, she was hungry, far from her parents;
terrified, she decided to return at once to Fontebranda. She left

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH X I

her grotto and ran swiftly, as on winged feet, to Porta Sant’
Ansano, and thence to her home. Her mother asked her no ques¬
tions, which leads us to suppose, knowing Lapa’s watchful
anxiety, that on leaving the house she had said she was going to
her sister Bonavcntura.

Catherine was rather unhappy and very disillusioned when she
re-entered her home. The hermitage experiment had not succeeded,
she thought, through her own fault. Had she not loved God
enough, or not been sufficiently pure, or perhaps not yet suffered
enough for Christ? Moreover, she found herself for the first time
confronted by the devil’s work, and she decided she must defeat
him by subduing her own body.

She had certainly heard about the mortifications of the Saints,
she knew that monks and friars scourge themselves, she may have
known some Disciplinati—several companies of these were in
Siena—who alternated their Lauds with flagellations. And had
she not seen paintings of the scourging of Christ, bleeding and
patient under suffering, so extolled by the preachers? She deter¬
mined to scourge herself.

She began by whipping herself with a little cord; then she
persuaded some other little girls to join her, and they used to meet
in the most hidden comers of the house to pray and to discipline
themselves. She directed the little group, decided how many
Paternosters and Avemarias they should recite, and how many
blows they should inflict. Scourging and prayers that for most of
these children were a game—an earnest and painful game, it is
true—that left hardly any serious trace in their souls. Probably
most of them later on fell in love with some young man, and the
fervour for Christ cooled and the mortifications were soon forgot¬
ten; for Catherine instead they were a necessary means to further
her own dedication to God, and to win back the longed-for vision.
She scourged herself, ate less, prostrated herself and prayed very
much—and, in an impulsive outburst, said to Christ: ‘My Lord
Jesus Christ, I promise Thee and give Thee my virginity, that it
may ever be Thine alone, and that Thou mayst ever be guardian
of my purity/

Padre Taurisano thinks that this vow was uttered during her
first Communion; this may be so, but no document proves it. We
observe however that, after this vow, Catherine’s abstinences

12 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

increased methodically, which may mean that she found a guide
in her pious practice, possibly Fra Angelo Adimari, mentioned
as her first confessor in the Chronicles of Santa Maria Novella of
Florence. Of this Dominican we only know that he was in Siena
in 1352. Perhaps Catherine began going to confession when she
was five or six, but not always to the same priest, and if Adimari
heard her confessions sometimes he probably paid no greater heed
to them than to those of other little girls, all in love with Jesus.
He may have given her some practical advice, which she carefully
followed. In any case, from this time onwards her asceticism
became more systematic, and she seems to have entered the Domini¬
can sphere of action. She was most frequent in attending the
church of San Domenico in Camporegio and learnt about the life
and work of St Dominic, while her love and veneration for the
Preaching Friars were such that she would kiss the ground where
they passed. She was fascinated by the Order’s apostolic work;
she also wished to save souls, and so she desired to become a
Dominican. Remembering Euphrosyne who entered a monastery
disguised as a young man, she tried to think how she could follow
her example; but she made no attempt to do this, knowing
already how to curb her impulsive nature.

The child’s religiosity either escaped her family’s notice, or was
considered a childish infatuation that would disappear as soon as
she became a woman. Catherine neither told her experiences nor
divulged her thoughts, and her parents did not bother to enquire
into the state of her soul. It was quite right and proper that she
should spend a lot of time in church, and her natural goodness
was something to be thankful for. Her family saw her little, but
observed that she was merry and content, did what she was told,
gave no cause for complaint and seemed to be growing up satis¬
factorily. What more could they expect? Every now and then
she showed a wisdom beyond her years, but they did not pay
much attention to that. We learn that only once was her mother
surprised at Catherine’s answers. One day Lapa sent her to take a
Mass offering to the parish of Sant’ Antonio, and instead of
returning immediately she remained there to hear the Mass.
When she re-entered her house her mother met her with: ‘Cursed
be the evil tongues that said you would never come back!’ A
pause, and then her daughter replied: ‘My lady mother, when I do

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 13

less or more than what you require of me I beg you to beat me as
much as you will, so that I may be more careful another time;
this is your right and your duty; but I beg you not to let your
tongue curse other folk, whether good or bad, for my shortcom¬
ings, because that would not befit your age, and would grieve me
too much.’

This is Catherine’s first real success in her family, perhaps a
modest one but indicating considerable moral strength. Raimondo
da Capua makes a great deal of it: ‘Her parents are surprised, her
brothers and sisters wonder at her, the whole family is astounded
to hear such wisdom at such a tender age.’ We may smile at this
‘astounded’ but the fact remains that Catherine replied in no
common manner for a little girl of ten. She must by this time have
already reflected on the souls to be saved, all worthy of our love,
and therefore not to be scandalised. Her first success was based on
a simple reference to our common humanity, uttered firmly and
energetically.

Nothing new occurred in Catherine’s life until she was twelve,
at which age Sienese girls were kept at home while their parents
busied themselves in the search for their future husbands. A time
of anxiety for the mothers, of rosy dreams of love for the young
maidens. All their thoughts were of a man who should bring them
happiness and be endowed with the best material and moral
qualifications. They awaited with trembling joy their future
bridegroom, and thinking of him their hearts beat more quickly
and their awakening senses quickened their blood. The mothers
observed these changes in their daughters, their new desires and
the unfolding of their life, and rejoiced: their own mission was
being fulfilled according to the natural law: new families were
soon to be created, and the generations would follow one another
in their monotonous yet varied rhythm.

Lapa, like other mothers, began to instruct Catherine about
preparations for marriage. She must wash her face more frequently,
arrange her hair prettily, dress gracefully and present herself with
a certain coquettcric. Women were bom to become mothers of
families, they must strive to please the bridegroom of their parents’
choice, and this they could not do if they were untidy or illkempt.
Catherine listened tranquilly and continued to live as before. Her
disappointed mother must often have repeated her counsel about

14 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

caring for her looks, making herself attractive, thinking of her
future as a bride and as the joyful mother of children. Lapa was
brusque and impetuous, but for her daughter’s sake she found a
mother’s gentle words and continued patiently in her instructions.
All to no effect. Lapa became more and more disappointed,
anxious, bewildered, not knowing how to enter her daughter’s
confidence or move her or convince her. She had no natural
gift for understanding other natures different from her own, and
no persuasive power. Her insistence only made Catherine more
impassive, for she neither argued nor contradicted, just listened
and remained unchanged. Even Lapa herself realised her own
powerlessness.

But in family life a daughter’s marriage is too important a
project to be abandoned so soon, and Lapa, in fact, would not
give in. Where she had not succeeded another might, so she
enlisted the help of her daughter Bonaventura, of whom Catherine
was very fond. As a newly wedded wife herself she might more
easily gain her younger sister’s confidence, and succeed where
Lapa had failed.

The affectionate relations between the two sisters became more
close. Her mother had been begging Catherine to dye her dark
chestnut hair the blonde colour so much admired by young
Sienese men, but it was Bonaventura who persuaded her finally
to tinge it gold; Lapa had talked to her about clothes, embroideries,
rouges, hair styles and adornments, but it was Bonaventura who
got her to use powder and rouge, follow the fashion and, as the
preachers say, cultivate the ‘vanities of women’. She succeeded,
Raimondo da Capua tells us, ‘in various ways, both by example
and by word’. He tells us no more, and we must guess the rest.
What is certain is that the younger sister’s religious fervour
declined, and very probably Bonaventura was rejoicing in the
thought that, sooner or later, she would persuade her to get
married. But in 1362 Bonaventura died in childbirth.

This was a dramatic moment in Catherine’s life. Her sister’s
death gave her a sense of loss, then inconsolable. Bonaventura
was the only person who had understood her, in whom she could
confide, and with whom she found herself in sympathy. What
was she to do now? In such cases, amid uncertainties and suffering,
grief is overwhelming, and the mourner feels abandoned in the

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 15

void. Outer life has lost its meaning; worse still, the inner life is
clouded over. Reasoning is rendered helpless by a sort of spiritual
paralysis. Where, or to whom, was Catherine to turn? Silence
and solitude within her and without. But in solitude and silence
Catherine had found Jesus in her childhood. Why should she not
find Him again? She was now fifteen and could raise herself to
God with more fervour, and experience Christ again. Her bio¬
graphers do not tell us whether the vision of Vallepiatta now re¬
turned to her mind.

Gradually her grief for her beloved dead sister turned to
remorse. She felt guilty of having prayed less, of having drawn
away from God, desiring the good things of this world and con¬
senting to enjoy some worldly pleasures. She was guilty. Her
sister was good, affectionate, kind, lovable, but she, Catherine,
had loved her more than Christ, and this was not right. She had
preferred the teachings of Bonaventura to those of God, and her
guilt was therefore great. She needed to weep, to pray, to see
clearly in her own mind, to resolve these painful doubts. The
‘Miracoli’ say it was now that she asked her mother’s leave to
confess to Fra Tommaso della Fonte, and this is psychologically
possible. Tommaso della Fonte became a connection of Catherine’s
family when their daughter Niccoluccia married Palmerio di
Nese dellc Fonti. Bom about 1337, he became an orphan during
the 1348 plague, was brought up in Giacomo Benincasa’s family
and considered by them as one of themselves. He chose the relig¬
ious life and in 1357 or 1358 was accepted as a Dominican novice,
and later became a priest. He had therefore been familiar to the
household of Giacomo di Benincasa since his youth, and on an
occasion as sad as this of Bonaventura’s death he must have done
all he could to console his dear friends. Catherine, inconsolable
and prostrate with grief, wished perhaps to open her heart to
this friar who, besides being one of the family, was also devout and
might understand; and ‘the friar strengthened her much in her
scorn of the world and her resolve to draw nearer to God’, and to
make his advice more effective, did not hesitate to point the moral
lesson of Bonaventura, who had died because she was vain and
had drawn her sister away from her devotion to God. Perhaps
Catherine immediately applied to herself the idea of vanity,
death, and chastisement, for ‘when the friar departed she remained

l6 MY SERVANT CATHERINE __

lost in thought’, hi this state of mind the idea of guilt, already
strong in her, may have taken possession of her conscience and
made her feel a great sinner, while her imagination led her to
liken herself to Mary Magdalen, seen in the paintings in church,
prostrate at the feet of Christ, weeping and imploring.

Her family guessed nothing of this intimate drama. Her father,
a good hard-working man of scrupulous piety, had no interest in
searching the hearts of others, or talent for so doing. Her mother
was still hoping for her daughter’s marriage, to console her for
the loss of Bonaventura. Moreover, in that household they
needed a son-in-law with a certain position in view, both for the
sake of the dyeing business, which was faltering uncertainly and
for the sake of Catherine herself, who was good, intelligent, wise
and devout, and could not be given just any man for a husband.
Busied with such thoughts they could not be expected to bother
about Catherine’s feelings, and in any case, thanks to Bonaventura’s
help, the maiden had yielded to her family’s wishes and was
behaving well, painting and adorning herself—according to Lapa,
well on the way towards marriage. At last they found the
future son-in-law they had looked for so persistently and circum¬
spectly; he was just what they wanted and the whole family
rejoiced. Catherine would form a model family and be the joy
of her parents. At once Lapa began to urge her daughter to con¬
sent to the marriage, but this time also the girl resisted her mother,
not passively as before but openly and decisively, referring to her
own religious vocation. Neither her mother’s insistence nor the
intervention of her father, brothers and sisters was of the slightest
use. Catherine was determined not to marry, and would not
budge from her resolve.

They then appealed to her confessor, the good family friend
Fra Tommaso della Fontc. He accepted the delicate mission and
spoke to his new penitent as a family friend, and as a priest in the
confessional, trying to sound the depths of her soul.

By means of objections and rebukes he tried to test the genuine¬
ness of Catherine’s vocation, but after several interrogations and
conversations he could only, in conscience, give her this advice:
‘Go and cut off your hair’—excellent advice which the girl
hesitated to put into practice. She thought of her mother’s grief
and astonishment at seeing her shorn of her shining braids, but at

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 17

the same time she believed that, once her hair had been cut off,
her mother would cease tormenting her about marriage. ‘So,
after debating inwardly for some days, at last one day with all
the strength of her soul she took the scissors and cut off all her
locks, and arrayed her head as best she might, so that her mother
would not notice anything/ But although she stayed apart from
her family as much as she could and tried to avoid Lapa, her
mother noticed that Catherine, contrary to her custom, always
kept her head covered; she asked her the reason and her daughter,
murmuring something incomprehensible, went up to her and
uncovered her head. At the astonished Lapa’s cries of rage and
imprecations the whole household ran to see what had happened.
There was a great commotion; everyone was furious with the
rebellious daughter, who under cover of the general confusion
fled to her accustomed retreat.

Did anyone ever hear of such a thing as a simple girl setting
herself against her parents , and brothers’ will? Not Paternosters
but a husband was what she needed. And there the husband was,
only waiting for the day when he would meet Catherine and
speak to her, while she chose this moment to cut off her hair at
the roots, thus robbing herself ofone of woman’s finest adornments
—almost dishonouring herself and bringing shame upon her
family. Lapa, beside herself with these angry thoughts, shouted
at her: ‘Wretched girl, do you think to evade our purpose by
cutting off your hair? It will grow again and in spite of you, and
you shall take a husband even if your heart breaks.’

Lapa imposed her will on the whole family; all were to treat
Catherine harshly until she understood that because of her the
honour of Giacomo di Benincasa’s family was at stake, and she
must yield—by force if not for love. A family council was held
and decreed that in the future Catherine should no longer have a
room of her own for prayer and meditation, and should wait
upon them all. Her family did not understand that the maiden
might have been won over with gentleness and tact, but never
with rebukes, insults, mockery. Their opposition stiffened her
resolve and their insults drove her with greater ardour to her
faith. Mockery aroused her energy to resist while her imagination
became more fervent when she was humiliated. She decided that
every member of her family represented a character of the heaven-

18 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

ly court: her father was Christ, her mother the Blessed Virgin,
her brothers, sisters and other kin Saints or disciples. What suffering
may not be borne for Christ and His disciples, for the Virgin and
the Saints; So she endured the mockery without resentment and
in her heart replied to insults with prayer. Scorned on earth,
she felt exalted in heaven. But although her resistance was
often strong she yet had disconsolate moments when she feared
her own weakness, and then with desperate urgency she begged
Christ to make her purpose inflexible.

She did her cooking cheerfully, thinking of the sufferings of
Christ, and served calmly and attentively at table. If her parents
and brothers wounded her deeply with their biting sarcasm and
jests, she turned to Our Lady and the Saints for strength to endure.
As she was not allowed a room of her own to pray in, she took
refuge in the room of her brother Stefano, which was free all
day, where once she was discovered by her father, kneeling in a
comer earnestly at prayer.

Catherine struggled on gallantly but she feared for the future.
How was she to escape the incessant family persecution, how
dedicate herself entirely and exclusively to the religious life ? She
remembered Euphrosyne and her own desire to become a Domini¬
can. What had been the pleasing fancy of a child became now a
serious consideration.

Her thoughts were so concentrated on this and her desire so
intense that in a dream she saw a ‘certain place outside this world,
where a multitude of folk were doing all kinds of different work,
and engaged in a confusion of diverse trades, the purpose and
nature of which she could not understand. She wanted to pass
through the midst of these folk but she did not dare. As she stood
there timid and frightened she heard a voice saying: “If you want
to pass through the midst of all these folk you must hide under
something white”. And raising her eyes towards that voice she
saw St Dominic just as she had seen him painted in the church, and
he said to her: “Come and receive my habit”. And as she went
towards him she saw coming after her two dishonest women, very
beautiful and richly attired, who looked like sisters, and they
caught her from behind by her clothes, holding her and pulling
her back with all their strength. She turned on them and beat
them and at last forced them to let her go, and escaped out of

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 19

their hands. And passing on alone she saw that those people had
taken the two sisters—but she passed on safe and sound/

A psychologist, analysing this dream, would find in it all the
elements of Catherine’s state of mind at that time—the perplexity
and broken reflection of her thoughts, and the kernel of her life’s
desire. There are her own kin who oppose her way of life, that is,
the busy multitude, undefined and incomprehensible, that fright¬
ens her; there is her confessor in whom she confides, who advises
and helps her, that is, the ‘white thing’, the Dominican robe. We
find St Dominic, the central inspiration of the dream, who calls
her to himself and orders her to become a Dominican—which
corresponds to the realisation of her longing desire, and to her
habitual vision of the figure of the painted Saint. The two richly
dressed sisters, beautiful and voluptuous, who seize her by her
clothes—notice ‘by her clothes’, not by her body—are World¬
liness and Human Beauty that had in the past attracted her soul,
wanting to possess it, but that Catherine had striven against and
beaten off. Once free from these two sisters she saw that the multi¬
tude came to her aid, and the people seized Worldlincss and Human
Beauty. This referred to her own family, who would help her to
win the victory once they understood that she was right.

But Catherine did not make such an analysis. When she awoke
two things must have impressed her most: the apparition of
St Dominic and her own escape from the struggle ‘safe and sound’.
She understood her own future and rejoiced. Just as the vision of
Vallepiatta had inspired her childhood and as Bonavcntura’s
death had revealed to her the sense of sin in all its profundity, so,
at this decisive moment, she knew in her heart what she must be.
She felt strong again; no more doubts or hesitations: St Dominic
wanted her as a daughter. She made light of obstacles, opposition,
struggles, firmly believing that she would get the better of them.
Until then timid with her parents, she now became courageous;
her prudence became audacity. She demanded a family council
and before her entire family she spoke openly of the vow of
virginity she had made to Christ, of her desire to live with God
and for God, and not at all for the world and with the world.
Her words were eloquent because of her conviction and she made
a sure stand because her spirit was full of the warning and revela¬
tion of her great dream. ‘Do you want me to be your servant?

20 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

I will willingly do so provided you will leave me a little time for
myself alone. Do you want to drive me away from home? Very
well, I will go—and the Lord will take care of me. Will you let
me live freely with you? I do not want to cost you any tiling. You
need give me nothing but bread and water, but leave me free to
live as I please.’

This was Catherine’s second success with her family, and not
just a passing surprise like the earlier one. This time she convinced
them, and got her own way. Her family could make no objec¬
tions, and had no arguments to bring forward. If she did not want
to marry she had the right to refuse.

Raimondo da Capua describes the family conclave as dramatic
and moving, ending with a general flow of tears. We prefer to
believe the version in the ‘Miracoli’, that they all understood her
desire and ‘decided to leave her alone’. Most probably her father
was the first to understand his daughter’s mind. He was a devout
man, he had been astonished to find her in Stefano’s room pray¬
ing so earnestly, he had seen her fervour on other occasions, and
admired her humility in her menial tasks. When he heard her now,
so calmly and clearly defending herself and speaking of her vow,
which she evidently intended to keep, his heart was softened and
he had to admit that his daughter had a superior nature, or, at
least, was different from other girls. Therefore he turned to her
approvingly, entrusted her to the inspiration of the Holy Spirit
and asked for her prayers, ordering the family to cease all perse¬
cution and not to venture in any way to oppose her spiritual
activity. ‘Have we lost a valuable son-in-law here below? We
shall acquire a better one in God.’ The most delicate point of the
whole question was thus resolved, and the father’s authority,
affirming his own confidence, could not be withstood.

Catherine rejoiced, not at her victory but at her liberty won.
She asked for a room for herself and got it—at last a cell of her
own! Already, during her persecution, she had tried to construct
a spiritual cell in her soul, as a refuge in the darkest or most pain¬
ful moments. But to be able to shut oneself up within four
walls, to think and contemplate at will, is much more. In our cell
our time is our own. A vision does not suffer interruptions,
colloquy with the divine flows without check. If we succeed in
animating our cell we are peerlessly rich, and we are miracle

21

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH

workers when we can create a new and loving atmosphere within
the four walls between the ceiling and the floor. Seclusion means
infinite expansion of the powers of the soul, the escape from self
and from everyday life. It is miraculous for the Saint, a paradise
forthe ascetic. But to seclude oneself is a hard business. We must
acquire that absolute control over our being of which the great
majority of men seem incapable. The elimination of the super¬
ficial ego, to set free the ego that needs only itself, is a task requiring
the greatest heroism. And all this must be accomplished without
impairing the sense of humanity, of superior beauty, of sacrifice.
The soul that finds expansion and sublimity in the cloistered cell
is no less great than the soul that expands and soars in the forest,
under the broad sky, or among the fields or mountains or God’s
creatures. A wonderful light illumines the man who loves nature
in God, but a no less enchanting radiance pervades the dark cell of
the solitary who passionately calls upon the divine. It is the
"shining dark’ of the mystics of all places and all times.

Catherine wanted her cell to be a sanctuary full of divine
inspiration, where she could kindle herself at the sacred flame.
Since her first contacts with the Preaching Friars she had begun
to practise a methodical and progressive asceticism, which now
she intensified and perfected.

She was not tortured by the formidable sensuality of Suso, to
subdue which, until forty years of age, he continually thought out
fresh instruments of self-torture; but she knew that the flesh is
weak even if the spirit is willing, and so this solitary maiden of
Fontebranda set out to eliminate all influence of her body over her
soul. She did not go to extremes. We do not find in her that
harsh and gloomy poetry that the tortured piety of Suso inspires,
nor even the religious anguish that the brilliant but hard and
. extravagant imagination of Griinewald expressed in his paintings.

Catherine, scourging herself so as to draw blood, training her¬
self to cat almost nothing and to sleep very little at night, and on a
hard bench, docs not make us shudder. This daughter of the people
is aristocratic in her restraint, even when chastising her own body.

But still her mother could not understand her. At the bottom
of her heart had remained a grudge for having failed to bend her
to her own will, and she grieved over the loss of such a fine
opportunity for marriage. A woman was made to marry and

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

22

bear children—the rest was nonsense. Religion was necessary,
but when one went to church and heard Mass and said one’s
morning and night prayers and made the sign of the Cross when
meeting an ugly figure along the road or during a storm or on
seeing an accident—that was enough. Anything else was bad for
the health, and what use could it be? When she saw her daughter
pining away, perhaps she listened at the keyhole of her cell, and
hearing her scourge herself with an iron chain she could control
herself no longer, calling out: ‘My daughter, my daughter, I see
you already as one dead, alas! Do you want at all costs to kill
yourself? Woe is me! Who has bereft me of my daughter? Who
has brought this grief upon me?’ She bewailed so much, scratching
herself with her nails and tearing the hair from her head, according
to Raimondo da Capua, that the neighbours rushed in and the
whole house was in uproar. But Catherine went on with her
mortifications and prayers.

Lapa thought one must at least sleep well at night, and not
ruin one’s health, so one evening she entered Catherine’s cell
like a Fury and pestered her so much that the poor girl, to avoid
something worse, consented to sleep with her mother, but as soon
as Lapa was asleep she slipped out of bed and went to her room to
weep and do penance. After some nights Lapa noticed her
daughter’s absence and renewed her reproaches and scoldings
which Catherine avoided for the next few nights by sleeping in
her mother’s bed, first placing some pieces of wood under the
sheet. The trick was discovered, and Lapa, convinced that there
was nothing more she could do with her daughter, let her sleep
in her cell again.

Catherine may have hoped to be left in peace to purify and
refine her spiritual life without further hindrance. Her dream of
St Dominic was ever in her mind, and the promise received filled
her with joy, but she was in a hurry for its fulfilment. If she had
been a pure contemplative she would have waited for events to
concur to make her a Dominican, but it was not in her nature
merely to wait, hope and contemplate; she was practical and
interpreted her vision in a practical way. What did it mean, to
receive the Dominican habit?

Many times in the Dominican church she must have seen the
Tcrtiaries entering the Cappella delle Volte for their services, and

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH

23

longed to be one with them; now in ‘the room assigned to her in
the upper part of the house’ she identified this promise with the
Third Order of St Dominic, and the ‘Come and receive my
habit’ meant she should try to be a Sister of Penitence. In this way,
perhaps following a suggestion of her confessor, she personally
interpreted the dream, and desired its fulfilment. But it was not
easy to become one of those ladies, some of whom belonged to
great Sienese families, who did so much good for Christ’s sake.
The promise of her dream made it quite clear that she would be a
Tertiary one day, but it would take time, so she began at once to
consider what requests, entreaties, recommendations might help.

Lapa continued most anxiously to watch over her young
daughter, whose health declined every day. She decided to take
her to the hot springs at Vignone, not far from Siena, to recuper¬
ate her strength. The cure was for the stomach, liver and nerves—
just what Catherine needed. Once she had recovered her health
she would surely lessen her penances, and might even give them
up altogether and be like any other girl. Her daughter’s odd ways,
although of a religious nature, were Lapa’s obsession, but she
still hoped to get the better of them. She was almost as obstinate
in her plans as Catherine. The girl obediently accompanied her
mother.

Then, as now, the summer bathing resorts were centres of
amusements and pastimes. ‘The elegant society of Siena and the
countryside, with wealthy folk and prelates from beyond the
City State, met at the baths of Petriolo, Macereto, Vignone,
Rapolano and Ofano. From all around, on horseback, on foot, in
litters and coaches, in carts drawn by buffaloes, with children “in
salmis sivc cistis”, people flocked to the various baths, to where
they might enjoy the greatest liberty, together with the benefits
of the water. The nobles and their ladies brought with them a
great train of squires and pages and pack-wagons; the rich brought
their servants; all went as best they could, but none with weapons
of offence or defence.’ For some weeks a brilliant gathering of
idle, thoughtless, gay folk met together. Most of them wanted to
forget the fights, the tedium, the monotony of their own castles,
villages and towns, and find refreshment in the brilliant company.
The ladies displayed their silk robes, gleaming jewels, elaborate
headdress, and elegant carriages; the men rode or walked, escorted

24 my SERVANT CATHERINE

the ladies to the balls, banquets and receptions where all met
every day. There was plenty to eat and drink. Conventional
restrictions were laid aside and even the ecclesiastics abandoned
their habitual reserve in the gay and festive society. The cure of
the waters served as an excuse to live in an exciting and sensual
atmosphere, and pass the time more happily than usual among
new and varied acquaintances.

We do not know what Catherine thought about Vignone when
she arrived, nor her impressions of the life of the place. The old
biographers showed no interest in this and passed it over. But
Giacomo Bcnincasa’s daughter must have noticed at once how
much freer were morals there than in the city, and when this
shocked her deeply she withdrew into herself still more and
intensified her harsh mortifications. The ‘Lcggenda Minore’
reports that it was noticed that ‘all the time while returning from
the baths she never lifted her eyes, as if she were absent from her
body, with her mind raised to God’. Probably she did so to escape
the general merry-making, and to keep herself quite apart from
the worldly gaiety that surrounded her. By contrast, her thoughts
at Vignone were always with the souls in purgatory or hell, and
amidst such enjoyment she felt herself the worst of sinners,
worthy of the pains of the damned or of the souls in purgatorial
fire.

The bathing took place in a common ‘piscina’. At Vignone
the Commune of Siena had had a wall built in the middle of the
bath to separate the men from the women, but there were no
single cabins. Catherine, seeing the jets of boiling water, thought
of going under them and so ‘afflicting her body in a new way,
even in the midst of enjoyment’. Raimondo da Capua himself, in
reporting this, emphasises this contrast which reveals the maiden’s
state of mind and her search for intense suffering to counter¬
balance opposing forces. It was difficult to put her plan into
execution as she took her bath with all the other women and
under Lapa’s watchful eye. She wanted to bathe alone, and
obtained her mother’s permission to enter the water when all the
others had left the baths. She did so, and, going tinder the jets,
scorched her flesh with the sulphurous water, rejoicing in suffering
for her sins, and praying God that this suffering might be consid¬
ered her purgatory.

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 2j

These baths were a great disappointment for Lapa. On return¬
ing with her daughter to Siena she gave up hope of bringing her
round to her own will and could only vent her ill-humour with
grumbles and complaints. Catherine, instead, had won a victory
over her own body, by which she felt better prepared to be a
Dominican Tertiary. All her energies were now concentrated,
her will inflexible. She must be a Tertiary, or God would punish
her.

The Order of Penitence of St Dominic was about a century
old. Associated with the first Dominicans of the thirteenth century
we find lay folk living in confraternities, but without fixed and
general Orders. Without official recognition, they were men and
women gathered together under the guidance of the Preachers
and following their leadership but bound to them only morally.
To make this bond closer and their activity more efficacious, and
to avoid the danger of heresy which was making many proselytes
among the laity, in 1285 the General of the Dominicans, Munoz
da Zamora, drew up a Rule, thus giving a juridical and permanent
character to the Third Order of St Dominic.

The Preachers were the most learned Order of the Middle
Ages and the hammer of the heretics. In the thirteenth century
they had preached a new and revolutionary philosophy with a
sound kernel of Catholic dogma; in the fourteenth century they
had modified the narrow Aristotelianisin, accepting various
current interpretations; but even with this greater freedom and
variety of interpretation Thomism remained the foundation of
their thought. The Pope made use of the Preachers for the defence
of the Church, and they were admired for their attachment to
ecclesiastical institutions and their zeal for souls. They were the
great Inquisitors, whose appearance sometimes struck fear, but
whose faith was never questioned. The investigations, examina¬
tions, judgments and verdicts that they conducted or delivered
were generally believed and approved in official circles. Hetero¬
doxy, let alone heresy, was inconceivable with the Preachers.
A lay Order could therefore flourish under their protection and
direction, even when the Third Order aroused the Papal diffidence
and apprehension, and ‘begardism’ and ‘beghinism’ were some¬
what suspect.

The whole Dominican Order made itself guarantor for its
c

26 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

own Tertiaries. Before being received the postulant had to be
diligently examined, to see whether ‘she be of honest life and good
fame, and in no way suspect of heresy or error; but instead, as a
true daughter in Christ of Messer St Dominic, a zealous follower
of the Catholic faith, according to her knowledge and power’.
And the Order’s supervision of its Tertiaries was so careful that
more than forty years after the institution of its Third Order,
Pope John XXII, in the ‘Clementine’ Bull which condemned the
‘beghinc’ because almost everywhere they had fallen into dis¬
obedience, error or heresy, nevertheless commended the Domini¬
can ‘beghine’ of Lombardy and Tuscany because, living virtu¬
ously, they devoutly attended the churches, obeyed their superiors,
refrained from erroneous opinions or dangerous discussions, and,
in family life or in the ‘beghinaggi’, observed the rules of chastity
and holy stem simplicity. ‘They have lived until now, and they
still live in such a praiseworthy manner that no suspicion has ever
arisen, or arises, about them.’ So the Third Order flourished, well
defined by the Rule and kept within its prescribed limits by the
Preachers. If the Dominicans did not feel the need of asking the
Popes for an approval of their own Tertiaries like that granted
by Nicholas IV to the Order of Penitence of St Francis, it was
because this faith and vitahty had been preserved intact. A pros¬
perous activity has no need of special recognitions; if living it
thrives by its own strength. When, at the beginning of the fifteenth
century, through the assiduous labours of Fra Tommaso da Siena,
every effort was made to obtain an official approval of the Domini¬
can Third Order, it was a sign that its own interior energy had
declined, and that, while boasting of its past glories, it felt the
need of exterior supports.

Already in the first years of the fourteenth century, according to
Laurent, we find groups of Dominican Sisters of Penitence,
living cither alone or in communities in Florence, Lucca, Arezzo,
San Gimignano and Siena. They were Tertiaries, dedicated to
prayer and works of mercy, who received no special mention,
but did good within their possibilities. They were humble but
aspired to heavenly things; without any remarkable spiritual
gifts, but devout. Many of them had mediocre minds and souls
that could not soar aloft, but they understood the extent of human
misery and how much men need justice and love. Pope JohnXXII’s

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 27

statement meant that the Dominican ‘beghine’ of Tuscany
had no intellectual curiosities and felt no special need to analyse
and explain to themselves the foundation of their faith, or to
discuss arduous dogmatic problems. They were, for the most
part, simple pious souls who were glad to have a limited but
definite task to perform, and rejoiced to work for the good of
others, by the side of the Preachers. They were in this way proud
of their communities and observant of their rules. They always
wore the Dominican habit and, like the other Tertiarics who wore
an ample cloak or ‘mantello’, they were called ‘mantellate’. At
Siena they met every first Friday in the month. They met in the
Cappella delle Volte of San Domenico in Camporegio to attend
Mass, hear their Rule read and explained, and be exhorted by
their spiritual director, or admonished and reproved if there had
been any transgression of the Rule, of the Commandments of
God and of the Church. Their social activity was serving in the
hospitals, visiting the prisons, consoling the afflicted, mourning
with the disconsolate, and interceding for sinners and those who
had been led astray.

The work of the Mantellate (or ‘pinzochere’ or ‘beghine’), or
Tertiary Sisters of St Dominic, was Catherine’s ideal. Once she
belonged officially to the Order she would be free to hear the
learned conversations of the Preachers, and at least in part satisfy
her longing to know her faith more deeply. Some time had elapsed,
and various difficulties and obstacles had been overcome, since her
dream of St Dominic; now she could brook no further delay.
Once she had taken the habit of a Tertiary her good but obstinate
mother would surely stop tormenting her with grumblings and
recriminations; moreover, in her dream she had received a com¬
mand, which it might be dangerous to ignore. Her longing
strengthened her resolve. She appealed to her mother to help her
in begging the Mantellate to receive her. Lapa, who had at last
realised her daughter’s determined character, reluctantly consented.
We do not know what she told the Sisters, but, knowing her
expansive, emotional and talkative nature, we incline to believe
that she drew a somewhat dramatic portrait of her daughter, so
much so that the Tertiarics chose not to meddle in the matter and
put forward the pretext that they accepted only widows of a
certain age and of good reputation.

28

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

We do not know why Catherine’s confessor, Fra Tommaso
della Fonte, did not support his penitent’s request. Knowing her
desire he was surely the most suitable person to further it success¬
fully. Perhaps he did not wish to support a cause unpopular with
her family, to whom he owed a debt of gratitude, or perhaps he
failed to understand his penitent’s mind, taking her for an ‘exaltee’
who must be led back to normal life. This latter hypothesis may
find confirmation in the words that Raimondo da Capua uses
with reference to the ‘very indiscreet directors’ of the future
saint, ‘who did not understand her at all and blindly wanted to
lead her along the ordinary road of ordinary maidens’.

The Tertiaries’ negative reply did not discourage Catherine,
for her faith in her supernatural dream made her confident of
reaching her goal. Meanwhile, however, she fell ill with chicken-
pox. Not a grave illness, but her face, hands, skin were covered
with pustules. Catherine feared it might be divine chastisement,
and her fever rose. Lapa was terribly worried. It was an illness
common to children, but Catherine was nearly eighteen years old,
and for an adult it might be fatal. She was afraid, moreover, that a
body so weakened with fasting and penance might not hold out
against the high fever. In great agitation she sat by the sick girl’s
bedside, became her devoted nurse, tried to find comforting words.
Catherine was not worried about the cliickenpox itself—what did
that matter to her?—but about her unfulfilled desire. She must
have smiled with gentle pity at seeing Lapa always there, so
distressed because her face was unrecognisable and her life in
danger. Her mother could not grasp the spiritual reasons for her
illness, but she herself, always remembering most vividly her
dream of St Dominic, knew that it was a punishment for not
having yet answered the call, or at least it was a warning to
answer it as soon as possible. She used her illness to touch her
mother’s heart. ‘Dearest mother, if you want me to recover and
be well, help me to fulfil my desire to receive the habit of the
Sisters of Penitence of St Dominic—else I am much afraid that
God and St Dominic, who call me to their holy service, will see
to it that you have me no longer, either in this or the other dress.’
And she repeated many times her gloomy prediction that she
would die if she did not become a Tertiary. Lapa was frightened.
All she could do now was to try to further the fulfilment of her

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 29

daughter’s desire. She went back to ‘the College of those venerable
women who call themselves Mantellate of St Dominic, of whom
there are a great number in Siena, and told them of her daughter’s
insistent and fervent petition’. The fear of losing Catherine for
ever now gave Lapa eloquence; she could guarantee that her
daughter’s vocation was certain; it was willed by Heaven; and
she argued and pleaded so much that the Tcrtiaries promised to
take her daughter’s case into consideration, and to visit the postu¬
lant themselves so as to ascertain her physical and spiritual con¬
dition. The visit took place; the Dominican Sisters observed,
enquired, learnt; the impressions they received were edifying and
were communicated to their fellow Sisters and to the Dominican
Friars ‘so that they gave the College such a report of her that all
with one accord, as if inspired by God, willingly accepted her in
their Congregation’. Catherine heard with joy that at last she
would be received as a Dominican Tertiary. But meanwhile
she did not know how long her illness might last. In her perplex¬
ity and impatience she prayed to God with extraordinary vehem¬
ence to heal her, so that she might go before the altar in San
Domenico to receive the longed-for habit.

The illness ran its course, and at the end of 1364 or the begin¬
ning of 1365 Catherine, still perhaps convalescent, went to the
Cappella delle Volte for her clothing. There were present the
Prioress with the Sisters of Penitence, the Master of the Tcrtiaries
and the family of Giacomo Bcnincasa. The rite was that established
by the third article of the Rule. The postulant kneels at the altar
before the Master, and when he asks her what she desires replies:
‘God’s mercy and yours’. The acceptance follows; then the Master
blesses the robe which the aspirant puts on ‘apart’; she returns to
the altar and the ‘Veni Creator Spiritus’ is intoned; after some
prayers of thankfulness and praise the postulant is sprinkled
with holy water and is received with the kiss of peace by all her
fellow Sisters.

It is easy to imagine Catherine’s joy and enthusiasm at the ful¬
filment of her dream, and at finding herself welcomed among the
numerous family of the Mantellate. She rejoiced also at having a
new director, the Master of the Tcrtiaries, to whom she might
open her heart, of whom she might beg explanations of obscure

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

30

points in the Gospel, and whom she might hear speaking of God
and religion.

Joergenscn and Padre Taurisano believe this Master was the
gentle and conscientious Bartolomeo Montucci, no great scholar,
but loyal to his apostolic duty and a lover of the writings of
St Bernard. We cannot be sure of this, but in any case the bonds
between Catherine and the Preachers became more intimate, so
that gradually she came to consider the Dominicans as her brothers
and felt bound to them in a spiritual fraternity.

After her clothing she went joyously back home and into her
cell, which she intended for some time to come never to leave
except to go to church. She was to complete a year’s novitiate,
under the guidance and supervision of the Friars and Sisters. She
wished to observe the Rule scrupulously—indeed, to surpass it in
severity. No one now would weary her with worldly conversa¬
tion; she could henceforth pray, meditate, implore all day and all
night; she was free to stay as long as she liked in the company of
God. She must have felt an overwhelming joy at being mistress of
her own time, after overcoming such grave difficulties, and at
being able to dedicate herself to the life of the spirit and the pro¬
gressive realisation of ever loftier ideals.

In solitude the most varied thoughts flock to us and our
memories become more distinct. By the side of future purposes
arise images of the past, and even far-off events of our life pass
before our mind in clear and decided colours. Both present and
future—we see them side by side, now overlapping, now mingling,
now emerging each in its own luminous clarity, and then fading
away. Our hearts beat more quickly, and we feel a vague sweet¬
ness and an indefinable longing. Although we have reached a
longed-for goal we arc not satisfied: something is still lacking.
There is an emptiness we wish to fill, we do not know how or
why. All our thoughts are wistful and melancholy. Then there
comes once more a dance of lights and shades, joys and sorrows.
Far-away memories we thought were buried return to life, and
wring our hearts. Have we chosen wisely, or ill? Are we really on
the road God wishes us to tread? Words that relations, friends,
even strangers have said to us at the most diverse moments, sound
again insistently in our mind and seem to condemn our life and our
works.

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 31

That Catherine passed through a similar state of mind after the
immense joy of becoming a Mantellata seems suggested by her
vision of the silken robes. Her sister Bonavcntura with her
worldly counsel, her sudden death, the advice given by Tommaso
della Fonte, her own admiration and occasional desire for beautiful
stuffs and elegant dresses, her mother’s incitements to marriage,
her childhood and girlhood—all this must have passed swiftly
through her mind. But this was the past and she must break away
from it; in the present there could only be Christ. Fragments of
her old nature yet persisted, and tormented her. She prayed before
the crucifix and strove with herself. The past must die, and still it
lived. Her nature must be subdued, but it rose again. It was a
drama of the soul. As she strove with herself there appeared to her
a magnificent silken dress, offered her by a devil, possibly young,
possibly very alluring. Catherine made the sign of the Cross and
the vision disappeared, but the longing to have that beautiful dress
remained in her soul, and with it was associated the idea of being
a bride. Yes, a bride: human nature had re-asserted itself. But she
had already given herself to Christ, she was His alone. She turned
to Him imploringly:‘O my sweet bridegroom, I have never
desired any other bridegroom but Thee, help me to overcome
these temptations in Thy name; I do not beseech Thee to remove
them from me, but mercifully to grant me strength to overcome
them.’ The prayer calmed her; her thoughts became luminous and
a majestic vision enchanted her; the Blessed Virgin appeared to
her, and drew from the side of the crucified Christ, to whom
Catherine had turned with such hope during her struggle, a dress
more wondrously beautiful than the other, covered with gold
and jewels and shining like a heavenly thing. The Virgin robed her
in it. What more could she desire?

According to her biographers she remained in her cell for
three years, going out only to Mass and to the services in San
Domenico, and speaking with no one except her confessor. Per¬
haps the biographers exaggerate, but certainly during these three
years she passed hours that were delightful, joyous and peaceful
mingled with others that were dark and stormy, even sometimes
desperate and tragic. Meanwhile she acquired a knowledge of her
gifts and of her mission, deepened her soul, fixed the main lines
of her thought, strengthened her will, developed her intuition

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

32

and second-sightcdness and soared above herself. Her activity
later on, even if apparently new and diverse, had its psychological
or religious foundation in this time of solitude and silence; a
preparation that was difficult and fiercely contested, but which
revealed to her the substance of her future masterpiece, ‘The Book
of Divine Doctrine’, and taught her to fight to the end for God
and the Church. Her own unyielding character was formed
during these years, she meditated on the human soul during her
ascetic practices, and in subduing her own nature she had a fore¬
taste of the power of God. Her spiritual strength was more evident
now than when, later on, she was to dominate princes and peoples,
dignitaries of the Church and Popes, and her conquests of virtues
at this time more admirable than her later conquests of souls—
disciples, followers, admirers. Raimondo da Capua tells us that
in these years she ‘found the desert within her own house and
solitude in the midst of people’, but it is truer to say that in the
desert of her cell she found the Holy Spirit, and in solitude the
secret of self-mastery.

Her solitude and silence were often transformed into joyful
companionship, passionate colloquies or bitterly fought duels.
At moments a vast and mighty radiance surrounded her, she was
enraptured with cosmic harmonies. At other times she was terri¬
fied at the sight of dreadful abysses, or saw herself standing like a
column in a spiritual temple that threatened to fall. In her cell
were solitude and silence, but within her worked Christ, that is,
the fullness of life. When Catherine felt the attacks of the devil
desirous to possess her, her solitude became inflamed with the
ardour of battle because she was determined to win, at all costs—
and it was full of the splendour of Paradise when she felt herself
sustained by the master of her spirit, Jesus. She felt intensely the
dualism of soul and body, and longed for an association that
would mean a real unity. The body is heavy, loves material things
and obstructs the liberty of the spirit which is light, aspires to
the heights, longs for purity, is made for union with God. How can
they be separated, so closely linked as they are? And where is the
point of release to be found? All the saints sought for this, and
found it in the suppression of the body. ‘Mortify your earthly
members’, St Paul lays down as a law. Since her childhood
Catherine had practised asceticism, through imitation, or on the

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH

33

advice of the Church, or because of her own natural bent. She
had achieved good results, but now she went deeper into the
meaning of asceticism and perfected her technique. She discovered
that mortification leads to the discovery of our real being, and
frees the infinite spirit from the bonds in which the body seeks to
hold it. Realising that mortification was necessary, the newly
accepted Mantellata reduced her food to a handful of raw herbs,
almost denied herself sleep, ploughed her flesh with scourgings
and tortured it with a hair shirt, mortifying the body so that
the spirit might grow free and great, suppressing it to subdue the
perverse will. The mortification and suppression were not an end
in themselves. ‘Works of penance and other corporal exercises
shall be set as a means, and not as a chief end’, she said later on in
the ‘Dialogue’, but it was at this time that she experienced and
formulated this truth. She was far from rejoicing in mortification
for its own sake. Her thought was fixed in Christ who had already
appeared to her in Vallepiatta; she thought of Him and loved
Him so intensely, she invoked Him so often with tears, that she
saw Him, felt Him near her, heard His voice; Christ was present
to her ‘whether she prayed, or meditated, read, watched, or slept’.
He protected her and was her guide. But the dreams, the sensible
or intellectual apparitions, began to follow each other in great
number; some were gentle, with reflections of the divine, up¬
lifting her soul; others were dark; some were attractive and
repulsive at the same time. Which was she to trust? Devils may
appear in the guise of angels—St Paul had taught her this; how
could she be sure of the holiness and truth of these apparitions?

Her spiritual directors must have spoken to her of divine and
diabolic visions, and told her how to distinguish them. But she
did not always remember the sources of her thought and every¬
thing seemed to her to spring up in her soul through the direct
inspiration of Christ. Now also, God answered her doubt: ‘My
vision begins with terror, but then becomes sweet; the bitterness
gives way to sweetness. The contrary is true of the fiend’s vision,
because of its origin. At first it gives a certain pleasure; it seems
true, it is attractive, but later on it causes bitterness and tears.’ A
traditional but unconvincing and unsatisfying answer. Catherine
also felt this; in fact she was taught another criterion for dis¬
tinguishing: ‘But I will give you an even more certain and infall-

34 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

ible sign. Be sure of this, that as I am the Truth My visions must
give the soul a greater knowledge of the Truth, a knowledge of the
Truth about Me and about herself, which is indispensable to the
Soul—that is, the soul must know Me and herself; through such
knowledge the soul must come to despise herself and honour Me,
and tliis is really the work of Humility. Through my visions,
then, the soul must become more humble; she must see herself as
nothing, and despise herself. The contrary occurs with visions of
the fiend. . . . Examining yourself therefore diligently, you will
be able to know whence proceeds the vision, from Truth or from
falsehood, because Truth makes the soul humble while falsehood
makes her proud.’ Two hundred years later St Teresa was to say
the same thing. This is the traditional teaching of the Church.

It is necessary for the ascetic to distinguish good inspirations
and visions from evil ones, but when he suffers from apparitions
which seem to do violence to his whole being, and hurl him into
darkest hell, where his soul feels torn to pieces, although it is easy
for him to distinguish the source he is none the less stricken with
horror. After sublime visions Catherine also experienced such
apparitions from the underworld and apparently was so terror-
stricken as to be frightened of their re-occurrence. Strong-willed
and valiant as she was, she doubted her powers of resistance and
appealed to God ‘insistently for many days’, to give her strengdi
to bear them. She heard the answer in her soul: ‘My daughter,
accept for love of Me the sweet for the bitter, and the bitter for
the sweet; and then have no fear, for you will certainly be strong
in all things’. She received the teaching with joy, and folded the
promise to her heart, and from then on rejoiced at every tribula¬
tion.

Until now Catherine’s sensual temptations had not been very
evident. There was only a slight hint of sensuality in the vision of
the silk dress. She was not subject to those powerful impulses of
the blood that set the whole organism awry, nor to those implac¬
able desires of die flesh crying out to be satisfied. She certainly
knew about the generation of men and animals, from her mother’s
and sister’s instructions, or through her own observance of nature,
or the reading of the sacred scriptures. But these were thoughts or
observations that had neither led her astray from her strict con¬
ception of life nor insidiously entered her mind to arouse morbid

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH

35

curiosity. Her constant purpose to be the bride of Christ made her
avoid not only men, but even the thought of men. But this
spiritual and moral integrity had not prevented words, observa¬
tions, thoughts and sensual stories from entering her consciousness
and remaining there harmlessly for many years—always ready to
show themselves if this consciousness were explored or disturbed.
In fact, one of the merits of asceticism consists in causing hidden
desires to rise to the surface, and in rousing the passions in all
their strength, so as to be able to recognise and subdue them.
Catherine, who sounded the depths of her own soul, and examined
herself every day to arrive at self-knowledge, aroused those sen¬
sual thoughts that had lain hidden in some fold of her being. Once
aroused they seize hold of the imagination, try to possess the soul
and become powerful. With Catherine sensuality was at first
very subtle, hardly noticeable. An affectionate word or term of
love overheard, the glimpse of a kiss given or received, a love
song, the radiant face of a bride-to-be, or even a vaguely licentious
conversation—to which there and then, many years before, she
had paid no attention—these must all have meant at first merely
a fleeting thought. But this thought came back, and gradually
grew more insistent, and took on consistency. It drew attention
to itself, worked slowly but continuously in the imagination,
became importunate; banished, it returned in brighter hues and a
more winning and insinuating form. Catherine was perturbed.
Even her dreams contained sensual images, and worse still, she
had genuinely and completely erotic visions. Believing her body
to be the cause of these, she scourged it pitilessly and watched and
prayed without rest. She did not want even the smallest particle
of her being to be contaminated, and so she felt horror, pain and
indignation.

According to Raimondo da Capua, the devils assumed aerial
bodies and were very numerous. They represented amorous themes
of every kind, and every now and then, turning to the maiden,
they said pityingly and with a sort of good-humoured irony:
‘Poor little thing, why do you torture yourself so much and for
nothing ? What use is all your suffering and grief? Do you think
you will be able to go on wasting your body in this way? If you
do, you will kill yourself, and it will be your fault. Leave such
foolishness alone, if you don’t want to die. You are at an age for

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

36

enjoyment; you are young, and can soon recover your health and
strength. Live like other women, take a husband, bear children
for the increase of mankind. You wish to please God? Didn’t the
holy women take husbands? Think of Sarah, Rebecca, Leah,
Rachel. What is your purpose in choosing a way of life which
you will be quite unable to continue?’ This sounds like one of
the sermons Lapa delivered to her daughter before she became a
Tertiary; at that time the words were meaningless for Catherine:
now they have acquired character as a spiritual seduction, and they
torment her. But she is determined to be victorious, and how better
can she succeed than by abandoning herself to God ? Resistance and
struggle wear out her strength; therefore, instead of wrestling
with her thoughts and trying to answer these questions in a long
exhausting interior struggle, she entrusts herself to God. She has
offered herself as a bride to Christ, she is His, it is for Him to defend
her.

Even in calmer natures the temptations of the senses are not
soon allayed. When passion is neglected it thrusts itself forward;
when repelled, it reappears in more violent form. Catherine may
well close her eyes, stop her ears, hide her face in her hands—
die sensual images are none the less vivid to the soul, indestruc¬
tible, inescapable. Obscenities take bodily form; the strangest
embraces, the most unthinkably fantastic unions, make her
shudder. The more she denies them, the more they persist; she
cannot shake them off. It is an oppression, an obsession, an
indescribable suffering. She feels alone, bereft of Christ, until
now her sweet companion. What use is her own strength
to oppose such powerful and numerous enemies? The shadows
thicken, the impure words multiply, the atmosphere becomes
abominable. She feels her own solitude and an aridity never
felt before, a dreadful emptiness in her inmost soul. She
would prefer to be torn to pieces and tortured in all her limbs,
or cast into the fire, rather than engage in such treacherous and
disheartening conflict, with foes as changeable as the wind. In her
loneliness and desolation she has moments of depression, almost of
despair. But suddenly she rebels determinedly against her own
flesh, and her own blood.

‘Vile creature, do you think you are worthy of any considera¬
tion? Have you forgotten your sins? Who do you think you are,

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 37

wretched sinner? Would it not be worth while to bear this dark¬
ness and torment all your life and be spared eternal damnation?
Why are you disconsolate and weary? If you are dispensed from
the pains of Hell, Christ will be your eternal consolation. Did you
choose to serve Christ so as to be able to enjoy consolations on
earth, or in eternity? Arise, then, and do not weaken in your
efforts—add something more, instead, to the praises you norm¬
ally offer to God.’

She feels strengthened and encouraged. Moments of silence and
tranquillity return and she renews her strength. She feels capable
of passing through her trial. ‘We must bear with joy even the
worst tribulations.’ She smiles and rejoices. The cell, so lately
infested with monstrous apparitions and resounding with sinister
words, is suddenly filled with the purest radiance, in the midst of
which she sees the crucified and bleeding Christ, who says to her:
‘My child, see how much I have endured for you; do not grudge
this suffering for Me’. And another voice, nearer but mysterious,
assures that she has won the battle.

Whoever is familiar with the lives of the Saints will find the
fundamental lines of these temptations in the Life of St Anthony
in the ‘Fathers of the Desert’, and will assume that Raimondo da
Capua, working on indications given him by Catherine, recon¬
structed her dramatic battle of the senses, which he knew would
interest his contemporaries, after the model of St Anthony’s. It
may also be assumed that in her solitude Catherine lived again
St Anthony’s experiences, which she had heard read or narrated
since her childhood, and that in a psycho-physical state character¬
istic of the ascetic she re-lived them in unconscious imitation. But
we may also believe that her experience was genuinely her own, and
that its similarity to St Anthony’s was due to a faith and concep¬
tion of the religious life similar to his. Certainly the resemblance
of subject is striking: in both the devils tempt to sin, the senses are
excited, the will resists, the spirit is tormented but finally triumphs
over temptation. There is light after darkness, and in the light
Jesus, who speaks to the soul and praises its victory. But a great
part of Christian asceticism is but the application and develop¬
ment of a single principle to arrive at the same end. With all
Saints and ascetics we find similar practices; what is important is
to find out how sincerely and intensely the various ascetics have

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

38

felt these experiences, and how much each has contributed to the
progress and perfecting of ascetic practice. This vision of Cather¬
ine’s, that bears certain resemblances to St Anthony’s, and indeed
to those of many other ascetics, has nevertheless its own peculiar
colouring and contains nothing alien or contrary to her character.
As we have already noticed, one of the devil’s little speeches
might have been one of mother Lapa’s sermons to Catherine
before she became a Tertiary; but even the frank impurity or
obscenity in the maiden’s vision has a simplicity proper to her
nature. We do not find any violent eroticism such as we find in
Suso, or even in St Francis when he casts himself naked into the
snow to subdue his senses; however painful these impure visions
were to her, still they did not overwhelm her calm and reflective
nature. As she was never dominated by her senses, so even her
visions are lacking in that furore that we find in other ascetics.
They are generally ‘intellectual visions’ due to memories of words
heard or facts learnt. Making a close comparison between her
visions and the terrible visions of St Anthony, we find that in the
latter there is rebellion against impure possession of soul and body,
while with Catherine there is horror for impurity seen only as
something external. In all Christian ascetic literature we see the
soul resisting, tortured and finally triumphing over sin, but
Catherine’s experience is clearly not taken from literature but
lived and experienced in full, and for one who felt so intensely
the contrast between spirit and body and longed so much for
integrity, even the least stain on her purity and simplicity was a
heartrending grief.

The difference between the two visions is clearer in their con¬
clusions. When St Anthony sees Jesus in the midst of the light he
asks Him where He was while he, Anthony, was beaten, tortured
and suffering. Jesus replies that He was there, watching to see
how he would bear himself in the battle, and that as he has shown
himself to be a valiant knight He now promises to come to his
aid in the future. Catherine also asks the Crucified in the midst
of the light where He was while she suffered so much, and why
He has thus forsaken her, and Christ tells her that He was in her
heart, not as a mere onlooker, but as the source of the sadness and
aversion she had felt in the presence of sensuality. In St Anthony’s
account there is a marked distance between God and the soul,

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH

39

but in Catherine’s there is union and co-operation. Christ was
working secretly in her soul, and the aridity and emptiness which
she felt were but momentary or illusory. There is evident progress
between the two visions, and Catherine’s shows the experience
of God always present to the spirit even when we seem to be
abandoned to our weakness. The divine spirit works eternally in
us without our knowing it, and it is necessary to dig deep into our
inmost soul to discover Him at His secret work, even if, as in
Catherine’s case, this search requires efforts, mortifications, terrors,
spiritual and physical suffering.

When the vision faded Catherine’s cell was not completely
filled with the light of God. The devils still came and went,
uttering really devilish words, and seemingly amused to see her
praying to be rid of them. The maiden, feeling Christ within
herself, was not frightened, but those grotesque faces and the
sudden appearance of changing shapes disturbed her, so that she
preferred to take refuge in church, where the devils were fewer,
and did not always follow her. She began to spend longer hours
in church.

Her ecstasies became frequent. Tommaso da Siena, quoting
from the ‘Miracula’ of Tommaso della Fonte, tells us that in her
ecstasy Catherine heard the angels chanting in heaven—a nameless
song, a strange unearthly harmony. Richard Rolle had heard a
similar music, but more continuous, during his ecstasies, and the
followers of Pythagoras had imagined such strains: the harmony
of the spheres. Catherine was so much affected by this singing that
when, a long time afterwards, she spoke of it, she heard it again and
wept for joy.

At this time occurred another event of great importance for
her. Constant in her attendance at religious services and prayers,
she had tried to learn by heart as much as she could of the Psalms,
Gospels, St Paul’s Epistles and the Canonical Hours. She listened
carefully to sermons and drew much benefit from these and from
the conversations of her confessors—but it was a grief to her that
she could not read for herself. One day a companion taught her
to spell, but for many weeks she made no progress. She turned to
prayer, imploring God that she might at least be able to read
Lauds and the Canonical Hours. After her praying she knew that
knowledge had been given her, and in fact when she tried to read

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

40

she could do so, at first stumblingly but later on with great
rapidity, though almost more by intuition than by direct and
tested knowledge.

How far her readings helped her in her spiritual development
is hard to say, but besides the joy they gave her they were of use
in providing her with copious material for reflection and medita¬
tion—and brought her into direct contact with the thought of the
Saints and the Church..

The three years of seclusion were drawing to an end. She had
prayed very much, and wept more, had learnt man’s weaknesses
and his capacity for resistance, had sought in her innermost self
strength and power, and had meditated on the excellence of
virtues, on human life, on God. She had experienced an extra¬
ordinary love for Christ. She had succeeded in her desire to become
mistress of herself and God’s slave. Harsh penances had filled her
with spiritual vigour, and her judgment had become clear as spring
water. In her fight against evil and evil will she had passed through
the terrors of hell, but had also soared in ecstasy to the throne of
the All-Highest. She knew the meaning of men’s passions, their
wealth, goods, pleasures and lusts, and how much the intellect is
darkened by sin.

Detaching herself from all else, she had not slain love. All else
was in a state of instability and dissolution, but Christ, Love,
the Church endured eternally. And Christ, Love and the Church
were the only foundations upon which a better world might be
built. She admitted of no compromise. Where Love was lacking,
where Christ did not rule, where the Church did not guide—
were misery, injustice, desolation and death.

She felt herself to be a daughter of the Church, overflowing
with love, and a bride of Christ, and with intense sadness she
thought of the majority of mankind, without love, without
Christ. She would pray for them. But this was not enough; she
must do more, perhaps even sacrifice herself for them. Even as a
child she had tried to do good to her neighbours, and now the
idea of an apostolate, at first vague and ill-defined, caused her to
reflect.

Until now she had been working to purify her own soul, and,
at most, she had felt some responsibility for the souls of the
Dominicans: ‘She had set herself to watch and pray every day

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH

41

while the Dominican friars, whom she called her brethren, were
asleep. Then, when the Friars rang for Matins, after the second
bell and not before, she would say to her bridegroom: ‘‘Behold,
Lord, my brethren, Thy servants, have slept till now, and I have
kept watch for them, before Thee, so that Thou mightest keep
them from all evil, and from the snares of the fiend; but now that
they have risen to praise Thee, do Thou watch and I will rest a
little”/ But she could no longer ignore the spiritual needs of so
much of mankind, and it was probably at this time that she had
the vision of the tree, that Tommaso da Siena sets, instead, at the
beginning of her novitiate as a Tertiary. He takes it from the
‘Dialogue’, but robs it of all grace and spontaneity.

The Saint dictated her own account of it: ‘Know, then, that I
then showed you Myself in the form of a tree, whose beginning
and end you could not see, but you saw that the root was joined
to the earth, and this was the divine nature joined to the earth of
your humanity. At the foot of the tree, if you remember well,
there was a thorn, and at the sight of that thorn all those who
loved their own sensual nature ran away, and hastened to a moun¬
tain of chaff; in which form I represented to you all the delights
of tills world. The chaff looked like corn, but was not, and so, as
you saw, many souls died of hunger in it, and many others,
realising the dcceitfulness of the world, returned to the tree and
got past the thorn, that is, the will’s decision. This decision, before
it is made, is a thorn that man finds on the way to truth. Conscience
and sensuality are always at war with him, but as soon as, full of
self-hatred and scorn, he makes a manly decision saying: “I desire
to follow Christ crucified’; immediately he breaks the thorn and
finds inestimable sweetness—some more, some less, according to
their disposition and eagerness.

‘You know that then I said to you: “I am your unchangeable
God, for I do not change; I do not draw back from any creature
who desires to come to Me; I have shown them the truth, making
Myself visible to them, I who am invisible; I have shown them
what it means to love anything without Me. But they are as if
blinded by the mist of their disordinate love; they know neither
Me nor themselves; see how they deceive themselves: they would
rather die of hunger than pass the thorn. They cannot escape
suffering, for no one passes through this life without a cross,

D

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

42

except those who take the higher road; not that they pass without
pain, but their suffering is their refreshment. And since through
sin, as I told you above, the world brings forth thorns and tribula¬
tions, and this river flows like a stormy sea, therefore I have given
you the bridge, so that you may not drown. I have shown you
how those deceive themselves with disordinate love—and how I
am your unchangeable God, and that I am not an acceptor of
persons but of holy desire. And I have shown you this in the figure
of the tree which I told you of. ,, ’ ‘Those who are blinded by the
mist of their disordinate love’ are a multitude. How is this? And
what is being done to help them? These are questions that remain,
latent, in Catherine’s conscience, to rouse themselves later on and
receive a clear reply.

At this time Catherine was desirous of effecting a closer union
with God. She had offered herself as a bride to Christ, and had
considered herself as His bride; but Christ, although so close to
her, speaking to her, advising her, reciting prayers and psalms with
her, had not yet given her His word of consent. It was a betrothal.
She wished, instead, to be wholly possessed by the Spirit, to feel
herself, as it were, seized by an all-absorbing force, by a will that
should subdue and take the place of her own. Rapt in this desire,
she soared above herself and pleaded insistently to be accepted as
a bride.

The spiritual marriage has remote origins. In embryonic form
it is found in the pagan mysteries, it is hinted at in neo-Platonism.
Among Christians, the fact, if not the name, is already found in
some Fathers of the Church, but it is St Bernard who gives it a
terminology and a development which, later on, with intellectual
and practical mystics, become more and more copious, acquiring
psychological exactitude with St Teresa, and theological exacti¬
tude with St John of the Cross.

The marriage marks the highest grade of spirituality that the
mystic can achieve. The soul feels in every moment united to God,
and there is not the slightest movement of the human being that
does not harmonise with the divine. There is a permanent state of
communion: two wills, one higher and one lower, are fused in
fullness of joy. From the mystical phase known as ‘operative
quiet’ they pass to the ‘marriage’, freeing themselves from the last
vestiges of earthly attachments to live in the realm of the Absolute.

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH

43

Sometimes the mystics describe only the externalities of this
marriage, as it were the ceremony; one must go deeper to under¬
stand its character. ‘It is a total transformation of the soul in its
delight’ and a merging of oneself with the divine, says St John of
the Cross. Thirty years before Catherine experienced this state,
Ruysbroek wrote that the spiritual marriage ‘is an immersion by
which we disappear in essential nakedness, where all divine names,
all forms, all living thoughts, that are reflected in the mirror of
eternal truth, are plunged into the sheer abyss, nameless, formless,
thoughtless. Here is nought but eternal rest, a joyous embrace
in which one is lost in love. ... It is the shadowy silence in which
all loving spirits are lost.’

In the ‘Dialogue’, when Catherine wants to describe her own
immersion in the Trinity, she uses almost the same words—her
own are simpler and more concrete—to describe the same fact.
After all, the expressions may vary: be simple or complicated,
rough or refined, clear or dark, concrete or abstract; what matters
is that they should spring directly from an intensely lived experi¬
ence and that through them we may get a glimpse of this experi¬
ence ourselves, and feel, even from so far away, the glow of that
purifying fire that bums in the breast of the mystics during their
state of transforming union.

Catherine was naturally anxious to reach the highest degree
of union with the divine, and implored God incessantly for this
grace. One day she heard the Lord’s voice, promising to espouse
her. Her heart rejoiced, and she waited in trembling expectancy.

At the end of the Carnival season of 1368 Catherine was full
of sadness. Her ear caught the echoes of the festivities of the
Sienese people. Everywhere were dances, songs, masquerades, and
bold jests. It was carnival: all must be merry, and some licence was
allowed. Every family that had the means to do so gave parties
and invited guests. The banquets were merry. The thought of the
approaching austerities of Lent sharpened the appetite for imme¬
diate enjoyment, and everyone was gay and ate and drank more
than was necessary.

Catherine’s family also showed the gaiety that comes with a
well-laden table. Catherine heard, reflected and suffered. It
was the festival of the belly: men had not yet understood the
teaching of Christ. She may have meditated on the enormous

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

44

gulf between the hard self-denying life of those who wished to
five in God, and the general self-indulgence of men in those days.
She turned to prayer again and implored Christ with increasing
fervour, for the hundredth, thousandth time, to make her His
bride, as He had promised her. During her passionate prayer
she received this reply: ‘Because you have cast away from your¬
self all vanities, and have fled from them, and, scorning the
pleasures of the flesh, have placed the desire of your heart in Me
alone; now, while the others of your family enjoy themselves at
table or in worldly pleasures, I have resolved to solemnise My
spiritual marriage with you, and, as I promised you, I take you to
^ Myself in the faith’. And in a vision she saw the Virgin Mother,
St John the Evangelist, St Paul, St Dominic and David. While
David played an affectingly sweet melody on his psaltery, the
Virgin Mother gently took her hand, presented her to her Son,
and asked Him to take her as His bride in the faith, and Jesus,
consenting, took from His robes a gold ring adorned with four
precious stones and a diamond, and placing the ring on Catherine’s
finger, said to her: ‘Behold, I, your Creator and Saviour, take
you as My bride in the faith. Keep this faith pure until you cele¬
brate the eternal espousal with Me in heaven. Act then, my
daughter, henceforth manfully and without hesitations in all
those things My providence will give to you do. Armed as you
are with the strength of the faith, you will successfully overcome
all your enemies.’

The vision disappeared, but Catherine felt ‘such joy that she
could hardly bear it’, and, adds Raimondo da Capua, ‘the ring
stayed always on that finger, and although no one else could see
it, Catherine always had it before her eyes, and many times she
has confessed to me, blushing, that she felt it always on her
finger, and there was no moment when she did not see it’.

The vision has such delicate, pure and naive colours that
analysis would but spoil it. It matters little if we see in it the
remembrance of a legend, such as that of St Catherine of Alex¬
andria, or possible the memory of a wedding ceremony she may
have observed in some church. What matters is what Catherine
saw and heard, and even more, that beyond the ceremony was a
profound experience that later on she described for us in the
‘Dialogue’.

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 45

If Catherine had been content with the vision alone she would
have been a poor sort of mystic, and we might consider her as led
astray by an inflamed imagination; but, going through and beyond
the vision, she went forward to meet God, to be invested with
His power, with which, later on, she was to perform acts that
required a supernatural strength.

Chapter III

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY

Catherine's mystical ideal had been realised. Safely united to
God, overflowing with love, she could now contemplate, rejoice,
pray, praise to her heart's content. Ecstasies came at every moment,
apparitions seemed the necessary synthesis of her desires. Vigilant
and adoring, she was made free of infinity and felt the impulses of
infinite love within her—a wonderful, unearthly state—but she
was a creature of the earth, and so could not and must not withdraw
from it entirely. She had passed out of herself, choosing the life
of heaven, but she must concede something to earth and mankind.

All mystics who have experienced the spiritual marriage pass
through a period when they desire to live in God and for God
only, and the least glance elsewhere seems to them a shadow thrown
over contemplation, or a deviation from the state of union. The
earth signifies the Fall, human weakness, inferiority, impurity;
one must therefore keep well away from its contamination.
This is a time of spiritual absolutism, and even, in a sense, of
egoism, but an understandable egoism because the supernatural
inspiration of the mystics is so great and powerful that they can
think of nothing else. They are, as it were, prisoners of a vivifying
central idea that docs not permit any secondary activity to the
various human faculties. It is the hey-day of love; but when this
love has reached its highest degree it re-establishes equilibrium
between the finite and the infinite. The mystic who at first has
felt only the need to abandon himself to God, refusing all else,
now begins to understand, through this love at its highest potency,
that his contact with God has taught him that earth is not to be
despised, and that man must be the object of his interest. So, after
a period of intimate and exclusive union, during which God and
the soul are his whole world, he finds that the cosmos, and not

46

St Catherine kneeling before the Crucifix, by Lorenzo di Petro, called Vccchictta.
Siena, Accademia No 204. 1445

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY 47

only the cosmos as an abstraction, but the earth and mankind, are
the loving handiwork of God, and therefore require our thought
and demand our care.

Love itself, athirst for the divine, turns of its own accord towards
men. Here is the conflict between contemplation and action—
not an intellectual problem that must be, or can be, resolved by
reason. The mystics themselves arc not clearly aware of this
problem, but it arises as a need, and is resolved as a necessity, or
often in obedience to a command. After the mystic has enjoyed
the infiniteness of the Absolute, and has tried to contain it in him¬
self, he becomes aware that it overflows on every side and needs
a varied activity and a continual development. Why, and in
what way, he wonders, must love overflow?—an enquiry that
leads him to consider men in their pain, unhappiness, and separa¬
tion from God. Man is wretched and suffering, because he does
not possess love, that same love that he, the mystic, possesses,
or by which he is himself possessed. From the heart of this love
arises an imperative command: he must save others, bring joy to
the joyless, and make men share in the Good that he enjoys. And
so he begins to consider mankind and the earth as objects of the
love that operates in him, and he feels himself a herald, an apostle;
he needs to act, to share his ardour with others. Little by little the
problems of others become fused with the problem of his own
experience of the divine, and they become one to him. God lives
in us and possesses us in as much as we sacrifice ourselves for others,
and share with others the truth that we have found in Him.

Thus the mystic feels so strong an impulse towards action,
formerly abhorrent to him, that no power can now hold him
back, and he becomes as ready, decided and absolute in action as
he had been in his quest for God, when he had seen nothing but
himself and love, and the conquest of love. Then he was extended
vertically, straining upwards; now he begins a horizontal and
circular action that desires to reach the greatest possible number of
people, over the greatest distance.

St Catherine was no exception to this law of mysticism. We
have already noted how, during her spiritual espousals, Christ
had warned her to hold herself ready for new and harder tasks.
But there was as yet no clear conception of activity. The warning
might have been interpreted as referring to spiritual difficulties,

48 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

warfare with devils, and so on. But she knew that the soul can
soar no higher than the spiritual marriage, and therefore her
future must be one of action. Tommaso da Siena says that while
Catherine was praying in her cell ‘and longing for the friendship
of Christ, as she was uttering the words: “Kiss me with the kiss
of Thy mouth”, the Lord appeared to her and kissed her, so that
she rejoiced exceedingly. She asked our Lord how she might keep
Him for ever with her; He answered that the way was simple:
she must never tire of doing good. In this colloquy He spoke to
her so sweetly that she begged Him to withdraw her from the
world, but He replied that it was not yet time for this, and in¬
sisted: “No, I want you to look after certain other people. Your
life must be a guide and example to many”.’

Fra Tommaso was writing after Catherine’s death, and may even
have added the last sentence to make the vision prophetic; but
its content is psychologically true, and represents Catherine’s new
state of mind, so rapt in the contemplation of her Betrothed that
she begged for death so that the contemplation might be endless,
and so full of the thought of having God all to herself that she
did not even hear His invitation to action.

Her passionate love was still for Christ alone, and she did not
yet conceive the importance of action for her neighbour. This
period is described by Raimondo da Capua as one in which she
never willingly left her cell, and if she had to do so, and entered
into conversation with anyone, ‘she felt such great pain in her heart
as if it were breaking’. Therefore, when she heard the order, and
an explicit one, to act for others, even for her nearest relatives, she
did not know, there and then, what to make of it; she was aston¬
ished, and resisted.

Raimondo da Capua, who, as usual, softens and embroiders the
Saint’s experiences, leaves in its integrity, beneath his embellish¬
ments, the essential moment of her passing from pure contempla¬
tion to action. Catherine had been reciting the Psalms, and reading
the Hours, feeling so near to Christ that it was as if He recited and
read with her. All at once she heard: ‘Go, it is the hour for the
mid-day repast. Your family are about to sit down to table; go
and join them, and return to Me later.’

What could this mean? She did not understand this command.
Had she perhaps committed some grave fault, or did her own

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY 49

nothingness make her unworthy of Jesus? The words she heard
were new, unexpected and cruel; she wept and rebelled. ‘O God,
dost Thou drive me away ? If my body has sinned against Thee, I
myself will inflict upon it the most atrocious penance, but I beg
and implore Thee not to remove me from Thy presence.’

It is clear that she did not realise the close relation between the
love of God and the love of her neighbour, and so naturally
she did not see the necessity for returning to family life, and she
objected: ‘What does a meal matter to me? The food I need is
unknown to my own kin. Thou knowest that I have withdrawn
from the world, and from my own family, to be Thy bride; and
now that Thou art my All, Thou tellest me to return among men
—but in so doing I shall certainly lose the light I now possess,
and little by little I shall become a sinner in Thine eyes.’

She feared to lose the contemplation of God, and could not yet
understand that action must follow contemplation. She wished
to enjoy to the full the spiritual joys, so numerous and so intense,
of contemplation and union with God. Anything else would
surely be inimical to this enjoyment. Courageously, even im¬
periously, she pleaded her own desires: ‘Far be it, O Lord, from
Thine immeasurable goodness to command me, or anyone else,
to detach the soul from the contemplation of Thine own infinite
perfection’. Her perturbation was so great that she cast herself at
the feet of Christ, sobbing and imploring to be enlightened. But
soon the distress of her soul was calmed, the apparent conflict
resolved, and serenity returned. ‘The act that I should perform
today will certainly be different from my acts before I belonged
wholly to God; and, besides, will not my Lord remain with me,
to give me the energy needed to perform the duties He requires
of me?’ Perhaps the Gospel verse: ‘Love God above all things,
and your neighbour as yourself’, came to her mind. In fact, she
heard the Lord’s voice in reply: ‘Have no fear; you must act for
the needs of others; but I do not in the least hr tend to detach
Myself from you—rather to draw you even closer to Me through
charity to your neighbour’.

It was probably at this moment that she thought out what we
read in the ‘Dialogue’: ‘When the eternal Truth has been conceived
in man’s soul through affection of love, he must at once pass it on
to his neighbour; otherwise it would not be the Truth that he has

50 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

conceived. But as in very truth he loves Me, so he ministers to the
needs of his neighbour; and this cannot be otherwise, for love of
Me and love of his neighbour are one and the same thing, and the
more a man loves Me, the more he loves his neighbour, because
his love for him proceeds from Me.’

This is a true description of divine love in action—needing a
richer experience to express itself more exactly. This experience
was to be Catherine’s later, but the first germ of this conception
must have been bom in this moment of her life.

After a little reflection she recognised that Jesus’ command was
just, and must be obeyed; yielding her will to Him, she said: ‘Thy
will be done, O Lord!’ Action, however, was a grave task. The
Saints and mystics had performed extraordinary works among
men, but they were Saints, and great ones: how could she presume
so much? She saw that action would be difficult, although she no
longer objected to it in principle. She heard God repeating within
her soul: ‘The soul that is in love with My Truth is never tired of
ministering to the needs of the whole world . She still demurred.
‘That is all very well for men, but where and how can I, a wretched
woman, be useful to others? Also, it is not fitting for women to
teach and preach; men have no esteem for them and, moreover,
it is unseemly for a woman to have to do with men.

This was the last flicker of resistance. The thought of an aposto-
late was already taking possession of her mind, and growing
stronger. Divine love had been working in her without her know-
ledgct she now felt her soul so full of it that it must needs overflow.
She could no longer resist. ‘But the soul that is in love with My
Truth is never tired of ministering to the needs of the whole
world.’

Now she heard God’s voice with all her former joy, and her
sense of His presence grew no less. ‘Thy will be done, O Lord ,
she repeated, and this time she bowed to Christ, once more present
to her eyes. Then at once ‘she quickly left her cell and went to
join her family, and seated herself at table with them’.

She had obeyed the call of love; the conflict between action
and contemplation bad been resolved, and she could no longer
distinguish between them. There was no longer anything but
one mighty operating Spirit, who worked through her and all
things else.

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY 51 .

Her biographers do not describe the effect on her family of
Catherine’s unexpected appearance at table, nor do they tell us
what influence her confessors had over her, but as the Dominicans
did not conceive of a purely and solely contemplative life they
must have approved of her action.

Raimondo da Capua says that her first spiritual directors did
not understand her. One must however remember that this was
the period of the heretical ‘beghine’ and it behoved them to stand
on their guard. Catherine might be deceiving herself in her visions,
and in her confident sense of the immanent presence of God. Her
experiences were certainly out of the ordinary, and her mortifica¬
tions excessive; she was very imaginative and very eloquent.
There had been among the Tertiarics many visionaries, of exemp¬
lary life and apparently possessing extraordinary gifts, who had
none the less been condemned by the Church. It was better to
withhold judgment. And among the Preaching Friars, accustomed,
in general, to close reasoning and much study, some were scep¬
tical about her, some uncertain, some followed her doings with
interest, but without giving a verdict one way or another.

Tommaso della Fonte ought perhaps to have known her state-*
of mind better than the others; but he was not a man of great
gifts, or even of shrewd perceptions. A commonplace Friar, he
devoutly performed his duties as a Christian and a priest, but could
not discern the originality of a spirit like Catherine’s. We must
suppose that his advice was of mediocre value. When Tommaso
began to write the ‘Miracula’, that is, an account of the Saint’s
extraordinary actions, he did so under the influence of his confrere
Bartolomeo Dominici, who from 1368 onwards was the real
discoverer of the genius and spirituality of Catherine. Encouraged
by the judgment of this young but learned Dominican, who
understood mysticism, Tommaso then became an attentive
observer of Catherine’s experiences, and began to understand her
intellectual and religious superiority, openly admiring her.

Did Catherine find any support among the Mantellate? Rai¬
mondo da Capua tells us flatly that the Sisters understood nothing
about her, in fact they opposed her, and caused her many vexa¬
tions. How could these mediocre Christians understand the
Saint’s outbursts and ecstasies? Their religious world was made up
of prescribed devotions, limited duties and ritual formalism—

52 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

such as satisfy ordinary folk. They did not feel the overpowering
need to soar above all heavens to reach God, nor did they know
the bitterness of spiritual conflict. Most of them were probably
good women in the current meaning of the word, but the good
they did was the small change of charity that satisfied their con¬
science. They must have wondered why Catherine lived in such
absolute seclusion, and mortified herself so mercilessly. It was
surely unnecessary to overstep the limits of ordinary humanity.
For Catherine, who broke all barriers and soared above humanity,
there could be no sympathy from her fellow Mantellate. How¬
ever, there were among these Tcrtiarics some who listened
attentively to what was said about the virgin of Fontcbranda, and
desired not only to speak to her but to remain with her, so as to be
sharers in her graces; a desire that was fulfilled as soon as Catherine
entered the world.

In religious circles in Siena there must have been talk about
this Tertiary who left her cell only to go to church, ate nothing,
drank very little, slept very little, and yet spoke beautifully about
divine things, was always cheerful, and experienced visions and
frequent ecstasies. Opinions about her must have been very
varied, some considering her a Saint, others even calling her an
impostor.

Siena was a city of intense religious life. In the thirteenth cent¬
ury, aware of its danger on the eve of the Battle of Monteaperti,
the city had offered itself to the Blessed Virgin, invoking her aid.
After the victory, it had in gratitude added to its motto ‘Sena
vetus’ the words ‘Civitas Virginis’. Every generation had produced
at least one saint, whose extraordinary works or miracles or
visions were narrated and discussed in the town. Andrea Gallcrani,
who died in 1251, had instituted the charitable Order of the
Brothers of Mercy; Ambrogio Sansedoni, who died in 1287, had
laboured long for peace in his city, praying with the poor, tending
the sick, aiding pilgrims. The people loved to remember Agnesc
di Montepulciano, who died in 1317, relating how fresh flowers
sprang out of the earth where she prayed, and how she had made
rise from the ground a miraculous spring of water, which is still
to be seen today: the well of Sant’Agnese. The Augustinian
Friar, Agostino Novello, had performed many miracles and
works of mercy before he died in 1309; many still remembered

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY 53

the first Constitutions he drew up for the Hospital of Santa Maria
della Scala, and his great love for the poor and sick. Was not the
great Abbey of Monte Oliveto, that became more celebrated every
year, the creation of Sienese ascetics in 1319? And who did not
recall Francesco Patrizi, the Servite whose life of penance, humility
and charity had ended in 1328? Selva di Lago, or Lecceto (the
ilex wood) was spoken of with great respect, for there were
gathered ascetics, prophets, contemplatives, and religious enthusi¬
asts who studied the ways of God and did penance for the sins of
men. Monasteries flourished in Siena; in 1310 there were twenty-
eight, with 651 Friars, subsidised by the Commune.

When a famous preacher came to the city he was welcomed
enthusiastically, and the whole population turned out to meet him.
The Sienese interest in religion was shown also by the incidence of
heresy, which was fairly lively during the fourteenth century. In
1321, for example, a great theological dispute took place. A man
of high position, Baroccino Barocci, a follower of the Nine, had
arrayed against him all the Doctors of Theology of the city, who
declared him heretical. He was shown his error, and many attempts
were made to induce him to retract, but he was obdurate. Finally the
Inquisitor and the Bishop condemned him to death by burning,
and he perished in this way, without retracting any part of his
opinion, and refusing to be shriven. He had many fellow heretics
in the city. In fact, Bishop Ruggero was always harrying them
without much success. Later on came the persecutions of the
heretics undertaken by the Inquisitors, who exploited their power
so much that in 1340 the Commune was obliged to pass a law
against Inquisitorial abuses.

But we find the greatest expression of Sienese religious feeling
in Giovanni Colombini, and most of the talk in the city in Cather¬
ine's time must have been about him. He had died a few years
before she began her social work, and shortly before his death he
had been commended and helped by Pope Urban V, on his
return to Italy. Because of rumours current about him, he had
been examined by the Inquisitors, who had declared him entirely
orthodox, thus increasing his fame. A strange man, but full of
faith, ardour and charity, he was becoming one of the glories of
Siena. Untaught, he had acquired for himself the wisdom of
love, spontaneous, immediate and proved. He lived for God and

54 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

for the salvation of souls, doing good wherever and whenever
he could. Those who had known him formerly as a rich business
man, elegant and self-indulgent, and now saw him working as a
street sweeper, scullion or grave-digger, bearing firewood or
turning the spit before scorching fires—all for the love of his
fellows—were deeply moved; some knew that one day he had
placed a leper in his own bed, laying him in linen sheets, and had
washed and perfumed him, and then, as if caring for him as a
brother were not sufficient mortification, had drunk the water
with which he had washed him. They may have found this
gesture exaggerated, but none the less denoting an unusual
fervour of charity.

He was called ‘the charitable Giovanni’, and whoever met him
when he was crying out: ‘Long live Christ throughout all the
world in the hearts of all His creatures!’, may have taken him for
a simpleton; yet that cry, coming from such depths, must have
stirred the hearts of those who heard it. Sometimes he would be
seen crossing the scorched fields under the blazing sun, drunk with
love for Jesus, or bare-footed and bare-headed, singing hymns to
his Creator in the rain. And cheerfully, at all times and in all
places, he offered his services to his fellow-men.

Who knows the thoughts of those who saw him, by his own
desire, dragged half-naked, bound with a halter, through the
streets of San Giovanni ad Asso, sweeping the ground with his
body, and making open confession of his former cheating in that
place—for he had robbed the peasants by lending them maggoty
corn and then demanding the best in return; Besides being amazed,
the onlookers must have been deeply affected spiritually, because
in these actions, that sometimes resembled madness, he always
observed a certain measure, and was inspired to perform them by
sincere repentance and true humility. In Siena there was such
dismay when he was banished that when the plague broke out
shortly afterwards, the people thought that it was a punishment
for having exiled him unjustly, and they forced the Twelve to
recall him at once.

His admonitions, speeches, letters went all round the city. His
disciples, and the Abbess and Nuns of Santa Bonda, waited eagerly
upon Colombini’s burning words, and many other devout folk
zealously sought after his letters, to have fervid spiritual reading

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY 55

that might help them to progress in the way of Christ. All was
centred in the love of Christ—for man was here to love Him.
‘For what more can we do for Him than love Him? You know
that He has no need of our services, and does not consider them,
except in so far as they are rendered with loving charity, and when
He is loved with purest charity, He gives Himself to our soul.
Then the soul feels such wealth and such well-being as no tongue
can express, for Christ transforms the soul entirely into Himself,
causes it to dissolve in tears, to melt, to writhe with devotion.’

The devout are induced to meditate on this ‘transforming’ and
‘melting’ and ‘writhing’ and find in them a synthesis of asceticism.
Colombini knew, and preached to all, that the soul, when inflamed
with love, almost loses itself in Christ, and, despising the world,
yearns to perform great things for love, thinking only of perfec¬
tion, which is loving all, doing good to all, and, more especially,
blessing and helping those who are hostile.

No contemporary writer tells us whether Catherine knew of
the life and work of Colombini, or read any of his letters, but
although she had lived until now as a recluse, she must have heard
of this godly man that all Siena was talking about, and who had
been in touch with the Dominicans of Camporcgio.

We have no proof of Catherine having read any of his letters,
but when we examine the writings of both, we are led to believe
that many of the same, or similar, expressions, and certain con¬
ceptions common to both, cannot be accounted for merely by
the similarity of their religious experiences. They are typical and
personal phrases: ‘He who loves has Christ, who is Love’; ‘Love
leads to Love’; ‘Wash your lamps, that is, clean your hearts and
fdl them with the oil of humility and all the virtues, and then
light the flame of charity within, so that when the Bridegroom
appears, you may follow Him and go to the nuptials with Him’;
‘The greater the affliction the greater the consolation’; ‘Setting
the whole world beneath your feet’. There are many of such
phrases which Catherine seems to have borrowed from Colom¬
bini, which leads us to suppose that she had read his letters, or
had listened attentively when someone expounded their contents.

She called the devil ‘Malatasca’, and many, including Raimondo
da Capua himself, have expressed their admiration for this
nickname which they thought to be her own invention, a Dan-

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

56

tesque fancy—but the name can be found in the 90th letter of
Colombini, addressed to the Abbess and Nuns of Santa Bonda:
‘And so you must pray, and you know how necessary that is,
because Malatasca the devil will not sleep, and will do all he knows
how to, and can’. P~

Moreover, sharing so many affinities of character and faith,
Catherine must have felt drawn to study his work and writings.
She may even have recognised in him a forerunner, or a loving
teacher, and a soul that had passed through spiritual and apostolic
experiences that were one day, enriched with so much more
emotional and mental power, to be her own.

Accustomed as Catherine was to solitude and soliloquy, she
found all companionship, even that of her own kin, irksome.
When torn away from her spiritual colloquies and precious visions,
she was irritated by ordinary conversation, so superficial and
insignificant. At table her family talked about business, about
events in the neighbourhood or city, or of gossip. She felt alien
to these subjects. Here at hand were her first untried weapons in
the struggle to adapt herself to living, voluntarily, with people
who spoke and thought differently from herself, but she had not
yet discovered that other souls may throb in unison with ours if
we show sympathy for their world, and that to fit in with a mood
alien to our own is an exercise in humility that increases love.
Certainly, the many hours of blissful joy passed in ecstasies were
still too recent, and her thoughts too much accustomed to remain¬
ing within their central source of light, so that to remove herself
from it wtis for her like plunging into darkness, and like emptying
her soul of life. Therefore the hours spent with other people
seemed to her like months and years, and as soon as she had an
excuse she would leave any company to flee to her cell, with ever
more ardent zeal to adore Christ there and invoke His appearance.
During these months, in which contact with others was so burden¬
some, she went more frequently to Communion, to find a closer
sense of union with the divine—to have Christ more often present
to her senses.

But even if she was still uncertain about the efficacy of her work
among those of her own family, and still instinctively sought to
withdraw, she yet felt the impulse of love within her—urging her
to act for others’ good. In a house like her own, how could she busy

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY 57

herself except in domestic matters? So the frail Catherine began
to sweep and clean, beat carpets and clothes, make beds, help in
the kitchen, make the bread and do the washing—to lend a hand
here, there and everywhere. One day the servant fell ill, so she
insisted on taking her place and doing all her work. She was
seized by a sort of mania for work; besides doing all the servant’s
work herself, she waited on her and tended her with loving care.
She began to feel the joy of action, and the happiness of dedicating
herself to others. Once before, after her sister Bonaventura’s
death, she had waited on her family, but how different her state
of mind was then! At that time she was undergoing punishment,
and obeying her family’s orders, and, in spite of her cheerful ap¬
pearance, she was sad and wistful; now, instead, she was working
of her own accord in obedience to an inner voice, and she knew
that all her sacrifices were useful and pleasing to Christ. Her
heart exulted and her face shone with joy.

The harder she worked the more closely she felt her union with
the divine. She began to understand the reason for this command
to action that her soul had received, and to realise that action is
never divorced from contemplation. Even when sweeping or
washing dishes, or turning the roast on the spit, all at once she
would feel herself seized and rapt in an ecstasy, almost as if this
were the reward of her obedience. At those times an ignorant
onlooker must have felt perturbed. One can imagine the dismay
ofLapa, who felt her daughter’s way of life as a personal calamity,
when one day she saw her ‘with her hands and feet numb, all
twisted, and her fingers pressed as hard into the palms of her hands
as if they were nailed there, so that no strength could detach
them. Her eyes were closed and her neck quite stiff’; indeed a
terrifying spectacle for Lapa. And as Catherine’s neck was awry,
she wanted for pity’s sake to straighten it, and who knows what
might have happened if one of Catherine’s fellow Tcrtiaries had
not warned Lapa in time of the danger of forcing her daughter’s
limbs during an ecstasy—and she was always falling into ecstasies.
Once she was turning the roast on the spit when all at once she
dropped everything and fell over the fire; only by a miracle did
she escape being burnt.

Action leads to action, and Catherine’s generous and enter¬
prising character could not be restricted to working within the
E

58 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

confined circle of her own home. The need for greater scope led
her to succour the poor and the sick. Whether in this she was
advised and guided by the Dominicans, or acted on orders from
the Prioress of the Mantellate, or on her own impulse, we are not
told. The Tertiaries had merely the duty of looking after their
own sick or needy Sisters, but we know that in Siena they visited
hospitals and prisons, enlarging the obligations of their Rule.
They may have entrusted to her some works of mercy, and it may
be that her first companions were in this way drawn to her in
affection and admiration—but we camiot be sure of this. According
to Raimondo da Capua, the wish to help the poor came to her
spontaneously, in obedience to the ever more imperious voice of
her conscience, and as a result of the devout sermons and conver¬
sations she had read or heard.

As soon as she began to work for her family, she found that
Christ was still with her, as close as He had been in her solitude;
indeed, her ecstasies became more frequent. She remembered the
delightful legends of St John the Almsgiver, and of St Nicholas,
and was inspired by St Francis’ total renunciation of the goods of
this world, and by the thought of Colombini, who had given all
his wealth away—but what could she do ? She possessed nothing,
either of her own or in common. It was true that a disciple of
Francesco Patrizi, Rosa Bcrardi, who died in Siena about 1348,
had given away in charity everything she could find in her house,
pots and pans as well as clothes, and has been severely scolded by
her parents for so doing—but Catherine did not want to irritate
her family. So she thought of asking her father’s permission to
give to the poor and needy what in their house ‘the Lord had
granted to him and his family’. Permission was generously given.
She enjoyed her charity, and it was open-handed. But it was also
subtle and wary. She set aside the professional poor, to help those
who suffered without begging. Those who appealed to her had to
endure her sweet but heart-searching glance, that discovered any
deceit. She preferred to find out for herself the real needy, to
choose her own poor. Once, for example, when she learnt that
some neighbours were in great poverty, but ashamed to ask for
help, she collected in her own house corn, wine, olive oil, and
other necessities, and the next morning, as soon as she could go
out, hastened to carry everything to their home. She very softly

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY 59

opened the door—it is the habit of poor folk to leave doors ajar—
and put the food inside the room, then hastened away so as not to
be seen.

Another time she was told that a widow with many little
children had nothing to eat. Catherine was in bed, because her
limbs were swollen and she could not stand upright. Painfully
she rose, gathered together what she could find at home, a bag of
com, a flask of wine, ajar of oil, and as soon as the bell rang at
dawn, before which no one was allowed to be in the streets, she
went rapidly to the widow’s home. She was laden, holding things
with both arms, on her shoulders, tied to her girdle—Raimondo
da Capua says the weight was about two hundred pounds. After
the first swift joyful steps she began to feel over-burdened; then
the load became intolerable; she stopped for a moment, drew
breath, and prayed. She gathered her strength together to arrive
at her goal, and just reached it. The door was ajar; she pushed it a
little to put down the food, just inside, but in ridding herself of
her burden she made some noise and the poor woman awoke.
Catherine tried to flee, but the strain had exhausted her. Her nerves
were stretched to such a point that she was incapable of movement,
and her will seemed powerless. Still not wishing to be seen, she
prayed to God, then turned on her own body with a ‘You shall
walk, even if you die of it!’ Almost on all fours she dragged her¬
self away, but not before the widow, who had risen and run to the
door, had seen and recognised her.

One day, pitying a poor man who was asleep in church, she
began to pray for him. All at once she felt inspired to go and slip
sometliing under his head. While she was on her way to him the
poor man arose and came towards her, saying: ‘I beg you for the
love of God, to give me something to cover me’. She at once took
off her cloak and gave it to him; then she led him home with her
and gave him a shirt. These were loving deeds graced by delicacy
of feeling. She put her whole self into her actions, and the useful
material gift acquired a meaning ofits own because it was vivified
by her generous spirit. In those moments Christ, her soul, and
the recipient of her charity were fused in one; she suffered for the
needy as much as they did themselves, even more, because of her
lively and sensitive imagination; and while she prayed for them
she enfolded them in a mantle of generous symptahy, and never

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

6o

caused them the slightest humiliation. She said, it was they who
helped her. She was a sinner, a great sinner—hence the cause of
their suffering. It was they who benefited her; in fact, they
received nothing from her; it was Christ who received, He to
whom she owed all.

Her visions still continued. The little silver cross she believed
she had given to a poor man in church appeared again in her
Bridegroom’s hands, but enriched with precious gems. And the
tunic she had given to a poor woman was seen again, beautiful
and adorned, worn by Christ Himself. There was no doubt about
it: the poor were Christ: charity took on a mystical meaning. Her
industry never flagged; she began to visit the hospitals and tend
the sick. Her fame spread through the poorer quarters of Siena,
and around her gathered a clientele of unfortunates. She was good
to all, and helped them to the limit of her power. She was said to
perform miracles, and was sought after. The miserable begged
for her prayers, knowing her to be a friend of God. ‘This young
woman has so much glowing charity that she receives very
lovingly all who beg her to pray for them, and promises to do so
very willingly. And then when she sets herself to pray for all her
petitioners, usually at night, she not only prays most fervently for
them, but often for their sakes gives herself such strokes of the
discipline as to draw blood.’ And when once she was asked how^she
could remember in her prayers all those who had petitioned her,
especially when she did not know them and their number was
almost infinite, she replied: ‘When a servant of God prays His
Eternal Majesty most piteously and with exceeding ardour and
fervour of holy charity for the welfare of sinnners, God of His
grace allows her to see with the eye of her soul all those for whom
she prays’.

One of her miracles struck the popular fancy. It has its remote
origin in the wedding at Cana, and Bartolomeo di Domenico
describes it thus:

‘It happened that Catherine’s father forbade his family to decant
wine from a certain cask in his cellar, because, as this was the best
wine, he wanted to keep it to the last. When Catherine, who
never drank wine, but only pure water, heard this, she reflected
that the best wine ought to be given to the poor; and as she had
full permission from her father to distribute, for the love of God,

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY 6l

whatever she wished, patting her trust in the Lord she began to
give away flask after flask of that wine to her poor sick folk.
When her father wished to drink this special wine he sent the
servant to decant it, and as the servant did not return he sent his
married son to scold her and bring it. But the servant came back
to say that without doubt the cask was empty. The father and son,
and others of the family, grumbled at her, and the son insisted on
going himself to get the wine. He stayed a long time and then
returned empty-handed, saying that the cask was indeed empty.
The father was very cross with the whole family, demanding who
had presumed so impudently to disobey his express command. The
holy virgin heard her father’s angry words and saw the whole
family upset. Knowing what had happened, her conscience was
stirred, and trusting in God, she came forward to calm die angry
scene: “Why are you so angry, my good fadier?” Hearing the
reason, she replied: “Have patience, my father; I will go myself
to decant the wine”. Going down into the cellar, she knelt down
by the cask and prayed to God very trustfully: “O Lord, Thou
knowest that the wine has been used to help the poor—and Thou
knowest that I have done this in Thy name. Do not permit me,
O Lord, for this to be made a cause of scandal to my father and all
the family.” She rose, and made the sign of the Cross over the cask
and behold! the wine came pouring from the spigot. First she
thanked God, then took the wine to her father, saying nothing of
the miracle; and all those who had tried in vain to draw the wine
were struck dumb with amazement.’ The wine lasted for more
than two months, for the use of all Catherine’s family as well
as for her poor folk, instead of lasting a month for the family
alone. When the vintage season came round, and they wanted to
empty the cask, to fillet with new wine, they were all amazed to
see that it was bone dry, as if it had stood empty for many months.

Catherine’s father, the only one of her family who had shown
some understanding of her religious fervour, fell gravely ill in
August 1368. Throughout his illness Catherine was his loving
nurse, and prayed for his recovery; but when she was sure
diat he would die very soon, fearing he might have to pass
through Purgatory, she offered herself in sacrifice, so that her
father might be spared all future punishment. She prayed with
such conviction that suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her side, and

62 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

it was revealed to her that this pain, that she was to bear all her
life, was her father’s ransom. Sure now that he would not suffer in
the world beyond, she went to his bedside to reassure him, and
then assisted him as he breathed his last. As soon as Giacomo di
Benincasa died, Catherine’s face became cheerful and smiling,
and she told those present that she envied his lot. When she had
washed him and laid him out, she watched by him all that day, and
spoke comfortingly to her disconsolate mother and grieving
family, giving them courage and serene resignation. t
For what was death, if not life itself? And why should we weep
for those who leave us, when we are sure they are better off than
we are ? It is true that here below all tends to bind us to an existence
that, in the long run, brings us more hardships than pleasures.
From childhood on, our education is at faulf, fostering in us
vain desires and notions of the necessity of money, of possession,
of power, of attachment to things and creatures, to honour and
fame. And all seems lost if any of these things fail us. We believe
ourselves to be necessary to others, as they to us, and we form
attachments without which life ceases to have any meaning. In
this way we lose the sense of absolute liberty, and build up a
whole world of bonds and chains amounting to spiritual slavery.
Man’s breathing space has been restricted by his own desire, and
he no longer enjoys the vast realms of the spirit in which all can
find grandeur and joy. Our eyes are no longer raised towards the
lofty heavens, and we have no part in their immensity. Our
interest is all concentrated in material possessions and in attachment
to creatures: infinite poverty. But Catherine, detached as she was
from this way of living, judged things very differently. She con¬
sidered everything in its relation to eternity, and to salvation in
this life and beyond. Integral Christianity: the creation of a life
that had love for its constructive element, serenity for its atmo¬
sphere, the infinite for its aspiration. In the immense depth and full¬
ness of love, our affections, attachments, joys, even doubts, uncer¬
tainties, hesitations and griefs still throb with life, but their power
is neither decisive nor tyrannical. What we normally consider as
necessities, and strive after, or wear ourselves out in attaining,
are really nothing and should be regarded with indifference.
Once we admit that our lives are continued and perfected in
infinity, the existence of our dearest ones cannot be thought of as

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY 63

broken oft' by death. There are no breaches of continuity: life is
one and eternal. Every day, in every hour, we must strive to win
for ourselves a future, and become worthy of the great love in
which we are to merge. So death is destroyed and only life exists.

Every now and then Tommaso della Fonte brought some fellow
priest to see Catherine. These visits gave her pleasure and satisfied
the curiosity of her visitors, and Tommaso was able to gather
various judgments and impressions about her, for as he was her
confessor he was in a certain sense responsible for her conduct to
the Order, to the city, to God. One day in 1368 he took Fra
Bartolomeo di Domenico to see her. Fra Bartolomeo was about
the same age as himself, and had been his fellow novice. He had a
liking for literature, was intelligent, alert, observant, and had a
special fondness for theology. He gave himself much to the study
of religious problems, was reflective and calm in his judgments,
and of a humility that set his teaching in stronger relief. Anxious
to understand ascetics and mystics, he was interested in their
problems, maintaining a slight scepticism about some of the
extraordinary events of their lives. He was of upright character,
and a generous and affectionate nature. He already enjoyed a
certain esteem in the Order. Little did he think that his visit to
Catherine was to his future teacher, and that he would have a real
Saint for friend.

On first entering the cell he was struck by the narrowness and
darkness of the place—doors and windows always closed, and
only one lamp burning before the images of Christ, Mary, and
some Saints. He was shocked to see the planks that served for the
recluse’s bed, but still more touched by her gaiety and purity.
It was the first time he had felt such a sensation in the presence of a
woman. Until then, with all women, even those of advanced
years, he had always been aware of their sex, but now, instead, no
impure thought entered his mind. He saw something angelic in
Catherine, and at once became her devoted admirer.

Fra Bartolomeo does not tell us about his first conversation
with Catherine, but we know that although he revered her for her
faith, her purity, sincerity, austerity and charitable work, he did
not at first believe in her supernatural manifestations. One day
he was in her cell, talking with her and Fra Tommaso, she sud¬
denly asked him: ‘What were you doing last night, during the

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

64

second and third hours?’ The two Friars asked her: ‘What do you
think we were doing?’ ‘Who knows better than you?’, answered
Catherine. Then her confessor, in agreement with Fra Bartolomeo,
ordered her, under obedience, to tell them what they were doing
at that time; but she humbly refused to reply, excusing herself
again. When her confessor then insisted that she should speak, she
replied humbly: ‘You know well that there were four of you in
the Sub-Prior’s cell, and you were speaking nearly all the time
about the salvation of our souls, intermingling other subjects
from time to time.’ When asked who were these four, she gave
their names. Fra Bartolomeo was dumbfounded, but still clung to
the idea that one of the Fathers might have told her of this. The
next day he went to her and asked her if she knew what he had
been doing the evening before at a certain hour. She told him
calmly that he had been writing, and moreover told him what he
had written. The Dominican had no more doubts about her:
Catherine had the gift of second sight, and so those stories of her
prophecies or visions at a distance, current in the city, must be
true. He became an assiduous visitor to Catherine’s cell, and she,
for her part, was glad to have found a learned Friar who understood
her, and with whom she could speak of theological questions
about which she desired to meditate, but which she feared, in her
ignorance, to have imperfectly understood. Thus began a mutual
exchange of help. Fra Bartolomeo instructed her in religious
knowledge, and discussed grave ecclesiastical questions, and she,
with her tact and intuition, made of him ‘a soul enamoured and
strengthened in the blood of Christ’.

Fawtier believes, I think mistakenly, that the Order of Preaching
Friars added Fra Bartolomeo to Tommaso della Fonte as an extra
confessor, the better to supervise the Tertiary and maintain her
within strict orthodoxy. The friendship between Catherine and
Fra Bartolomeo, however, arose quite spontaneously, through a
mutual spiritual sympathy fostered by his admiration for her
sanctity and her admiration for his learning. It is true that all the
Dominicans watched over the faithful lest they should fall into
heresy, and in Catherine’s case also the supervision was no doubt
attentive, but always through the Friar’s own initiative, not in
obedience to a command. Before long the Order was to busy
itself with Catherine, but at the moment of which we speak her

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY 65

fame was still restricted, and the Order saw no need to intervene.

The mutual affection of this intellectual friendship is expressed
in the letters that Catherine wrote to Fra Bartolomeo. She writes
as one sure of being understood, and her thoughts flow impul¬
sively and richly; she does not need to explain or simplify, but
lets the fullness of her spirit overflow. On the contrary, when she
writes to Fra Tommaso della Fonte, it is with great respect and
care, and if every now and then even with him she lets her over¬
flowing love have its way, she corrects herself at once, lowers her
tone, calculates how far she can be understood, and tries to adapt
herself to his upright but somewhat pedestrian soul. Fra Bartolo¬
meo, besides being her spiritual father, is always her ‘brother and
most beloved and dearest son', while Fra Tommaso remains
merely her ‘dearest and most beloved spiritual father’.

We find a mark of Catherine’s tenderness towards Fra
Bartolomeo in the Supplementuin of Tommaso da Siena: ‘Fra
Bartolomeo, who was the virgin’s second confessor, was once
conversing with her and her first confessor, when during the
conversation he told her he felt a strange and unendurable mal¬
aise, his head full of heaviness and strange fancies. She was sorry for
him, and placing her hand on his brow, said: “I do not want those
things to be here within”. Then, raising her eyes to heaven, she
added: “O Lord, I do not wish any to remain here”, and she
made over him the sign of the Cross with her hand. Fra Bartolo¬
meo at once felt relief in mind and body, as if he had never
known and felt that discomfort and pain in his head.’

A little circle of admirers and friends were forming around
Catherine: Dominicans, Tertiaries, recipients of her bounty or
petitioners for it. Among the religious the ‘case’ of the Sister of
Fontebranda was variously judged; the people knew only that
she was good, very good, and worked miracles. Those who spoke
with her were amazed at her eloquence; Fra Bartolomeo di
Domenico, himself a student of literature and fine speech, said
she was ‘wonderfully eloquent when she spoke of the honour of
God and the salvation of souls’, and Tommaso da Siena, perhaps
quoting from Tommaso della Fonte, wrote that ‘she was very
attractive, and all who came near her, men or women, of what¬
ever rank or profession, were made better by her, and led back to
God’.

66 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

It was natural that some pious women on discovering her
extraordinary gifts should at once approach her and desire to
become her companions. They were of no exceptional intelli¬
gence, and left no trace in her history except as having been her
faithful followers, or having helped her in her practical activity.
One of her first companions was Francesca (or Cecca) di Clemente
Gori, a widow, who had three sons in the Order of Preaching
Friars, and a daughter who was a Dominican nun at Monte-
pulciano; Cecca was a Tertiary, and there was a great affection
between her and Catherine. Later came the noble Alessa Saracini,
also a Tertiary, who was to receive Catherine into her own home
later on, and who, as well as Cecca, sometimes acted as her
secretary.

In her own family Catherine found herself admired by her
sister-in-law Lisa, a Colombini by birth, but not of the family of
the Blessed Giovanni. She was a gentle pious girl who observed
Catherine’s spiritual development, knew of her struggles and
victories, was present during her ecstasies, and shared some of her
ideas. Lisa believed in her sister-in-law’s miraculous powers; she
‘knew her well and loved to talk with her, and put great trust in
her’, says Tommaso da Siena, so much so that she insisted on
having her with her twice during childbirth. The second time the
Saint’s help was necessary, and miraculous—as also was her
intervention after the child was bom, for Lisa had no milk to
feed him, and through Catherine’s prayers her milk returned.

Among those who visited Catherine in her cell, taken there by
Fra Tommaso della Fonte, was Tommaso da Siena, generally
known as Caffarini. He was very young, sixteen or seventeen,
when he saw her for the first time, and was at once filled with
admiration. From then on he observed her constantly, whenever
he could, in church, in conversations, prayers, social activity,
raptures, ecstasies. He was practically-minded, and more amazed
at the blood shed by Catherine in her scourgings than at the
wisdom with which she solved spiritual problems. Her miracles
impressed him enormously, and he made a collection of them,
accepting even the most fantastic and ludicrous versions. He was
so fond of the extraordinary that nothing that others told him about
her seemed extraordinary enough. Instead of warming himself at
the flame of her inner life, he preferred to excite his fancy with

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY 67

astounding external facts. Besides being a man of action he was
himself an eloquent preacher, but his actions and his eloquence
had nothing in common with those of the Saint. Catherine was
out to transform hearts and minds; he was bent on amazing his
hearers, transporting them to an atmosphere of miracle and
keeping them there. He could not penetrate the human and divine
mysteries of the soul; but he wanted others to recognise her
obvious virtues and piety. He was sure that Cadierinc was a great
woman, without being able to understand her real greatness, or
its source. When preaching or saying Mass he was pleased to see
her present, attentive and devout; he was much impressed at the
sight of the marks of her teeth on the silver chalice from which she
had drunk the Communion wine; but he never cast a glance at
her soul, often suffering torments to win another victory over life,
for she mortified her spirit more than her body to grasp the eternal.
Perhaps because of his lack of understanding of profound spiritual
life there was never between Catherine and him a close and
enlightened friendship such as she enjoyed with Bartolomeo
Dominici and later with Raimondo da Capua. In a letter that
Catherine sent him in 1379 there is no sign of any particular
affection or affinity of spirit, and if the letter sent him in March
1374 was more loving and ardent, this is because it had not been
written for him alone, but also, and especially, for Fra Bartolomeo.
The letter that Fra Tommaso da Siena sent to Catherine contained
the correction of an interpretation of the Psalm ‘ Domine , non est
exaltation cor meutri given her in a conversation, for which he now
wished to substitute an explanation he had found in the works of
St Augustine. It was a cold scholastic letter, showing no interest
in the spiritual meaning of the Psalm, or of St Augustine’s words,
that would have been of great interest to Catherine. The letter is
dated 1374, when Fra Tommaso was twenty-four, an age when
enquiry into the possibilities of interior life generally exercises
great attraction. His chronicler tells us that he knew more about
divine than about human tilings, and often went into ecstasies,
but there is no sure proof of this, and we do not find in his
writings, even about Saints and holy women, any profound
ascetical or mystical knowledge, either drawn from his own ex¬
perience, or that of others. The relations between Catherine and
Fra Tommaso da Siena were friendly, even coloured with a gentle

68 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

maternal and filial affection, but with no sign of intimate under¬
standing, or the mutual devotion that leads to spiritual progress.

Nevertheless, this Friar was the chief assertor of Catherine’s
greatness and worked harder than anyone else to have her canon¬
ised. And his praise of her implies a glorification of her inner life
even if he was unable to enter into it. This is no small merit of his,
and we must praise his constancy in pursuing his chief aim for so
many years. Catherine’s sanctification was no doubt expected to
add more glory to the Dominican Order, and so to rival the glory
of the Franciscans. Nor must we exclude a little personal ambition.
But it is not for us to submit the Friar to a somewhat harsh
examination, as Fawtier has done, with arguments, sometimes
valid, sometimes exaggerated, at times quite erroneous. It is
enough for us to know that Tommaso was from his early youth
Catherine’s admirer and disciple, and certainly never spoke of her
to her followers or acquaintances without great admiration.

Catherine’s women companions would not allow her to con¬
duct her own apostolate, and they began taking her here and there,
wherever they thought was a case for her compasssion. They did
not realise that she needed an activity quite out of the ordinary, so
that her soul might expand and reach out towards God. It was not
really her mission to say a kind word to those afflicted with the
usual ills of life, to incite to the love of God those not possessed by
evil spirits, to minister to every-day needs, observe puny and
trifling passions, and suffer for those who had not been ground
down in the mill of life. She did all this, in obedience and humility,
but could not put the whole of herself into it. Were not there
other kind and charitable people who could in such cases obtain
almost the same results ? She must have thought in her heart diat
she was on the wrong road; her energy for action flagged and
dwindled, so that her spirit shrank accordingly; in fact, when she
found herself unwillingly brought into contact with so many
people her soul seemed drawn away to Himself by Christ.
Considering this as a warning, she began to complain to her
confessor: ‘You see, Father, I cannot stay talking with people.
I feel drawn away, even sensibly, to my Bridegroom Jesus Christ.
I beg you to forbid me to go about.’ Tommaso da Siena, perhaps
repeating a remark of Tommaso della Fonte, explained: ‘She
begged him to do this, because her companions took her here and

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY 69

there doing good; she was very persuasive in her speech, and at
her words people were wonderfully seized by the fear and love of
God.’

hi the absence of sure indications, we judge on psychological
grounds that it must have been at this time that she began to care
assiduously for those in direst need —les grands malheureux. She
chose her own needy, avoiding mediocrity. She visited, fed and
consoled a prostitute whom everyone else avoided, fearing to
soil themselves by approaching her. No one would even toss her a
piece of bread. Catherine saw the wretched woman’s forsaken
condition, understood the despair in her soul, and forced herself
to care for her, and to kindle in her heart a fire of love very
different from that which, mingled with pain and humiliation,
she had known in her life. She knew that earthly love may lead
to divine love, and her own loving protectress, Mary Magdalen,
had experienced this sublime transition. A prostitute may under¬
stand what is meant by a passionate outburst of love towards God,
and may cry out in her enthusiasm more fervently than many
wise and devout folic, who are incapable of entering deeply into
the human soul, with its miseries and grandeurs. The maiden of
Fontebranda understood this and spared no pains, perhaps to the
scandal of some, in nursing and helping the abandoned prostitute.
She was sure she would find in her a light, dimmed but not
quenched by sin, that the careless, scornful passers-by never
suspected in the sick and famished outcast.

After this, she tended a leprous woman. She had heard that in
the hospital of San Lazzaro, beyond the Porta Romana, there was
a certain Cecca eaten up with the disease, and so disgusting that
no one could bear to look at her. In fact, she was to be removed
from the city. Catherine insisted on visiting her and caring for
her. She may have remembered the lepers that St Francis kissed
and Colombini tended, but her chief motive was certainly to
force herself into familiarity with what is repulsive to all. The
spirit must overcome the body. Joergensen does not consider this
act as one of self-conquest, but as natural and spontaneous, and
contrasts it with that of St Francis which implied a real victory of
the spirit. One must remember, however, that when St Francis
kissed the leper he was at die beginning of his ascetic self-conquest,
while Catherine was now in her spiritual maturity, and therefore

70 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

her acts had less apparent significance. However, even for
Catherine, the care of the leper represented a forcing of her own
nature which, never wholly tamed, needed constant discipline;
we shall have proof of this later on when she was tending her
fellow Tertiary Andrea.

Here another victory over herself awaited her. There are physical
acts of great merit: stooping in loving care over a rotten stinking
body, caring for the soul of a prostitute, eagerly nursing a leper.
These are heroic acts requiring self-abnegation, and confidence in
the power of the spirit, but they are not out of the ordinary.
Rarer is that self-control which is exercised when our hearts
are wounded by a subtle insult, or an ironical phrase, or by words
full of poisonous intent. Then a wave of indignation sweeps over
us, and even if we refrain from crying out against those who
insult us, we needs must defend ourselves hotly. Catherine is
hailed insultingly by Cecca, whom she has come to nurse: ‘Here
comes the Queen of Fontcbranda, after having been all day in
church with the Friars! She never seems to get tired of those
Friars!’ Catherine may have felt a rebellious impulse or even an
instinct of revulsion, immediately checked and banished. The
spirit must be conquered, even if this is harder than conquering
the body. To be one with Christ, our moral suffering must be
purified by total acceptance, total humiliation. So Catherine
tended her insulter with redoubled love. Her hands became infected
with leprosy—no matter, she must obey and serve. Her mother
Lapa objected to her risking her life for a leper, and did not want
the danger of infection in the house, but Catherine continued
to serve, to bless, to love until the sick woman died and she could
compose the poor worn-out body in its coffin, and bury it with her
own hands, then disfigured with disease. But after this act of piety
her hands returned to their normal health and beauty, becoming
even more beautiful than before, as Raimondo da Capua and
Bartolomeo Dominici inform us. Catherine’s moral sufferings
were, however, only at their beginning.

Among so many friends and enthusiastic admirers there were
naturally some slanderers and evil tongues. The fact that the
maiden stayed so many hours in church, the innocent familiarity
with which she treated the Friars—even going so far as to embrace
them—her outspokenness and liberality: all this irritated many

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY 7 I

folk. She was purity itself—but those who saw her in fervent
prayer or in ecstasy, and afterwards engaged in close insistent
conversation with some Dominican, did not suspect that she had
grave spiritual problems to decide, or needed counsel. She was a
woman and young; might she not be in love with one of the
Friars? Or, worse still, might she not have yielded to her senses?
A commonplace mind cannot think otherwise, and those narrow¬
minded ‘beghinc’, so easily scandalised and prone to gossip,
were astonished at Catherine’s singular way of life; and so they
whispered disapproval, delicately insinuated some evil, and not
content with this, passed on ‘in confidence’ accusations they had
heard, so that at last she was arraigned and denounced.

Even among the Friars there were some who disliked Catherine
and believed her to be (as we should say today) a hysterical
woman; and they were harsh and hostile to her. She felt this and
understood, accepting their gibes meekly, glad to be slandered, so
that humiliation might better purify her soul and bind her more
closely to the eternal. But the malevolent tongues did not cease.
When Cecca insulted Catherine she was but repeating what a
group of avid, envious, malicious folk went about saying all over
Siena, a small city of about thirty or forty thousand inhabitants,
in which petty gossip easily became accusation, calumny or
scandal.

Among the Tertiaries, Palmerina at once believed these
rumours that were circulating, and contributed others, showing
open dislike of her fellow Sister, and ordering her out of her house.
Catherine was saddened by this. She did not wish to cause trouble
to anyone; she was ready to serve her, tend her, help her in any
way—but the more humble she was the more Palmerina despised
and calumniated her. A struggle took place in Catherine’s heart.
At all costs she must win over her enemy’s soul. But why did
Palmerina scorn and hate her? Was it perhaps her own fault that
she had not been able to arouse love in her companion’s heart?
Was it because of her own wretched sins that Palmerina hated
her? For when others do evil the fault is ours, because we are
so cold or so tepid in doing good. The people we mix with become
what we make of them, and if we find no love in them it is
because we are ourselves so poor in love. Just as metals cannot
resist intense heat, so it is with souls and the soul’s heat. We have

72 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

but to increase the living impulse and ardour of our love, and
those who hate us will find their hatred turned to love. Catherine
felt that a still more radical sacrifice was needed now. Just as she
had given all to Christ, and love had triumphed, so now she
must give herself entirely to her neighbour, and in that loving
dedication she would achieve the total annihilation of self,
beyond the limits reached in the cell of Fontebranda. She prayed
that the soul of Palmerina might vibrate in harmony with her
own. Her fellow Tertiary fell ill and was near to death, but Cather¬
ine would not let her die with hatred in her heart. She must be
saved from Hell, held back from death. Catherine prayed. The
burden of that soul would be upon her if she failed. It was a
struggle in the infinite. Catherine imposed her will on God:
‘she never ceased praying, and so, as it were, conquered the
Unconquerable’, says Raimondo da Capua expressively. Because
Palmerina disdained, repelled, offended, dishonoured her she
gathered all her strength in love and strove to penetrate her
adversary’s soul. With the piercing eye of love she saw therein,
half-concealed under the incrustations of sin, a wondrous and
enchanting light, before which she could not remain insensible
or inactive. Even if it cost her life itself, she must dissolve the
crust of sin so as to reveal the beauty of that soul. She asked for
God’s help, and received the certain knowledge that Palmerina
would be saved; and this in fact came to pass, as the biographers
tell us. Catherine’s experience was now new and enriched. Until
now she had been conquering herself, and doing good to others
in obedience to an interior command, but she had not made
direct contact with the human soul; now, through suffering, she
had discovered the sublime power that is lodged therein. It was
therefore imperative to enlarge her sphere of missionary activity,
and save from sin as many souls as she could. She had experienced
an unprecedented joy in seeing the mysterious light in Palmerina* s
soul, but every human being had such a light, which, once freed
from its dark crust, could unite with others to form an immense
arc of light that would return triumphantly to its radiant spring.

★ ★ ★

In September 1368 Catherine saved her brothers’ lives. The

73

*

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY

anonymous author of the Miracoli tells us: ‘It happened in one
year, when there was a revolution in Siena, that Catherine’s
brothers were contrary to the party that had won and come to
power, and their enemies were looking for them to kill them or
maltreat them as they did with others. A dear friend of theirs
came to their house and said hurriedly: “A band of your enemies
is on its way here to do you harm. Come away at once with me
and I will place you in safety in the church of Sant’ Antonio”,
which was near at hand, “where others of your friends are
sheltering too.” At these words Catherine, who was present,
arose and said to that friend: “My brothers will not take shelter in
Sant’ Antonio and I am very sorry for those who are there now”.
And she sent their friend away with God’s blessing. When he had
gone she put on her cloak and said to her brothers: “Come with
me and do not fear”. She took them out with her and they passed
right through their enemies’ territory, and those of their enemies
whom they met on the way bowed low to Catherine, and they
all passed through safe and sound. She took them to the hospital
of Santa Maria a Siena, and there she handed them over to the
Master of the hospital, recommending them to his care, and said
to them: “ Stay hidden here for three days, and at the end of that
time you may come safely home”. And so they did. At the end
of three days peace had been restored. All those who had taken
shelter in the church of Sant’ Antonio were killed or taken prisoner.
And when the excitement died down, these brothers of Catherine’s
were fined ioo gold florins, which they paid, and so remained in
peace.’

This is not an event which reveals a stage in the spiritual
development of Catherine, but it proves how much loved and
venerated she was already in Siena, and how lively was her
prophetic sense.

As the number of people helped materially or morally by
Catherine daily increased, and her fame grew apace, a group of
hostile Religious, men and women, abhorred and persecuted her.
She was excluded from the meetings of the Third Order, and,
to her great grief, forbidden frequent Communions. One Domini¬
can insulted her with vulgar abuse whenever he met her, and once
drove her roughly out of church. Another, Pietro di Maestro
Landro, pricked her repeatedly with a needle while she was in

F

74 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

ecstasy; a third robbed her of the money she had received in
alms. Many people, one of them a woman, vented their rage by
kicking her while she was unconscious. They insisted she should
leave the church as soon as she had received Communion, which
she could not do, because almost immediately she entered into
ecstasy. One day during one of her trances in San Domenico,
some Friars lifted her bodily and ‘flung her out of the church,
stiff and unconscious as she was, as if she had been an unclean
person; and under the burning midday sun her women com¬
panions, weeping, stood shielding her till she came to her senses’.

She suffered from the blows and prickings she received during
her ecstasies, but ever patient, sweet and loving, she prayed for
her persecutors, and did not cease from her charitable work. As
soon as she heard of some wretched woman with an infectious
disease she ran to visit her, and if she were without anyone to
care for her she looked after her herself. It was thus with a certain
Andrea, a Tertiary, suffering from cancer. She was the widow of a
certain Antonio, and died on May 23rd, 1371, according to
Valli’s probable conjecture of her identity. We have three versions
of this episode, that of Raimondo da Capua, built up on witnesses’
remote memories, that of Bartolomeo Dominici written in his old
age, and that of the A diracoli, written down shortly after the
events described, on October 10th, 1374. This last version is as
vivid as a first-hand account, and even if (as often happens with
oral accounts) it lacks absolute precision, the author of the
Miracoli must have listened to a witness who knew all about this
story of Andrea, perhaps even from Andrea herself, and the account
corresponds to a certain extent with that of Bartolomeo.

It happened as follows. The widow Andrea hated Catherine
and ‘did all she could to blacken and slander her’ with the other
Tertiarics, declaring she was not a virgin. This insistent and explicit
accusation caused such dismay among the Mantellate that the
Prioress, as the Nineteenth Chapter of the Rule commands,
called the accused before her to defend herself. Catherine’s reply
was simple: ‘hi truth, Mother, I am a virgin. I would rather die
than offend my God, and especially in that way of which you
accuse me.’ Her humility and warmth of conviction were enough
to persuade the Prioress of her innocence, and she dismissed her in
peace. But Catherine’s soul was much distressed by this. For

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY 75

many days after she searched her conscience to see whether
she had committed any trifling fault, or whether in act or word
she might have given some cause for such a shameful accusation.
She could find nothing. Yet Andrea had defamed her in no
hesitant or uncertain manner. How was it possible for the heart
of a woman, a Religious, to harbour such a precise, slanderous and
baseless accusation? She could understand her enemies’ attempts
to blacken her, in a general way, as Palmerina had done, and this
did not perturb her much because anyone was free to observe her
way of life and ascertain its purity; she accepted such detractions
as a means of preserving her humility before men; but she could
not understand why she should be publicly subjected to this
precise and shameful accusation.

The treachery here was evident, and came from a fellow Ter¬
tiary. Catherine knew herself to be a great sinner, but what had
she done to Andrea except offer her what help she could? She
meditated long—on herself, the human heart, evil tongues—and
prayed with intense fervour, hi these meditations, begun with a
sore heart, she gradually found interior calm, realising that
accusations, even the most atrocious, are necessary for spiritual
progress. Our hearts must be torn asunder for us to understand
our own nothingness and the completeness of God. Hatred drives
us to seek for shelter under the great wing of Love, and there our
soul is purified, hi tribulation Catherine grew aware of the justice
of her own actions, and this awareness was to become even clearer
and inspired her reply, some years later in Florence, to a friend
who warned her that she was being slandered. ‘This is my glory,
this is what I want, to be bitterly assailed in my life. And do not
worry about it; let them say what they like. I am sorry for them,
not for myself.’

Meanwhile she did not slacken her loving care of old Andrea,
who grew steadily worse. When her cancerous tumour burst, the
Tertiarics who were nursing her fled, unable to bear the stench of
her wound. Catherine stayed by her side, giving her food and
drink, and dressing her wound, even when her stomach revolted
at the smell, caring for her like a daughter. One day, while
attending to her, she noticed ‘a new stench, more abominable than
any she had ever known before. It was such that she could not
endure to finish her dressing of the wound and fled to another

y6 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

part of the house. She stayed there, deep in thought, and with her
conscience reproaching her for having left Andrea in that way.
Suddenly she went back to her, and pouring into a glass the wine
with which she was to wash the wound, she took a splinter of
wood and caught on it some of the stinking pus that flowed from
the wound. Adding this to the wine in the glass, she said these
words: “So you ran away, Catherine, and abandoned the sick
helpless woman, and you abhorred the stench of her wound?
Well, I will pay you out now with that stench.” And putting
the glass to her lips, she drank it all. Then she finished dressing
the sick woman’s wound and, without feeling any more abhor¬
rence, she tended her as before, or better.’

A complete victory over the body. Today this act fills us with
profound repugnance, but if we consider what strength of mind
was needed to perform it, we are forced to admire. Catherine,
nursing the leper, thought she had reduced her body to total
submission and could use it as a docile instrument. Instead, here
it was, still sensitive and reluctant; hence the necessity to subdue
it with violence.

We arc nowadays very far from understanding asceticism; we
merge body and spirit in one whole, and are as considerate of one
as of the other. It was not so with the great ascetics, for whom the
struggle between body and soul was resolved by suppressing the
body and, if necessary, mutilating it. Is it not extraordinary that
the pus which the Saint drank, and which would have killed the
strongest man, had no ill effects on her—indeed left in her a sweet
memory, so that years afterwards she declared she had never
drunk so delicious a beverage ? This miracle of self-conquest and
physical immunity could only proceed from the power of Love.
Andrea, confronted with such an extraordinary act, was dumb¬
founded and began to believe she was nursed by a real Saint.

Such a complete victory delighted Catherine, who cheerfully
returned to her cell, where she resumed her meditation on the
physical sufferings of Christ. Andrea’s wound, visible to her eyes,
reminded her of her Bridegroom’s wounds, which she now saw
more vividly—especially the wound in His side. When bending
over the tumour in Andrea’s bosom, almost touching it with her
parted lips, she had imagined she was tending a wound of
Christ’s; now, in a vision, He showed her His pierced side, and

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY 77

she felt drawn to kiss it, almost to bury her mouth in it. Did not
this wound, ever bleeding for the salvation of men, lead to the
heart of Jesus, source of all power and love’ Athirst with love,
she drank greedily of the fountain, and felt so filled with divine
life that her heart seemed likely to burst. At other times she had
felt the fullness of love as an unbearable pain in her heart, but
never as in this moment. Now her heartbeats were so quickened,
so excited, that she could not control them. Perhaps the words of
the Psalm came to her mind: ‘Create in me, O God, a pure heart’.
Then she felt as if her heart were taken out of her breast, and she
went on living without a heart. She asserted this ingenuously to
her confessor, who laughed at her mockingly. Catherine was non¬
plussed. She reflected, she meditated. To be sure, one cannot live
without a heart. Then another vision came, during which Christ
bestowed on her another heart. As this exchange of hearts took
place in a vision, inspired by ardent desire, Bartolomeo Dominici
does not mention it, and we must consider it as having a symboli¬
cal meaning, and as a preparation for her mystical death. We find
the same event recorded in the life of St Lutgard, but here also
the exchange of hearts is the symbolical fulfilment of desire.
Catherine, concentrating her desire in the Psalmist’s prayer for a
new heart, and thinking at the same time of the Man Christ,
brings into being a reality of her own soul, so vivid that she feels
Christ piercing her breast, emptying it of her own heart, and then
substituting another; her desire and thought are so powerful that
they produce an actual scar on her breast. The symbolical event
is necessary in the life of mystics, because it is with this and by this
that new spiritual experiences are rendered possible.

★ ★ ★

From her mystical experiences Catherine derived the energy
necessary for her life of charity, and to arouse in whoever ap¬
proached her a real love for, and serene trust in God. Her manner
was always humble, her smile, according to her contemporaries,
enchanting, and she was always ready to make the greatest
sacrifices for others. Her speech was cordial and clear, coming
straight from her impulsive heart, and her own profound convic¬
tion communicated itself to her listeners. By her prayers she was

78 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

able to work good even in souls that were hostile to her. This
happened to Fra Lazzarino da Pisa, the Franciscan philosopher and
theologian who had acquired a considerable reputation in Siena
as a preacher. Close in his reasoning, and gifted with eloquence,
he knew that he deserved the esteem of his colleagues and the
admiration of the people. He was ambitious, and wanted to be the
only Religious talked of in the city, and when he found that this
maiden of Fontebranda was mentioned insistently and very
reverently, he was envious, as Bartolomeo Dominici tells us.
He tried in vain to slander her in private; he attacked the Domini¬
cans who visited her, perhaps thinking that Catherine was,
intellectually and spiritually, a creature of theirs, and that by
striking at them he could strike her too. Every time that Fran¬
ciscans and Dominicans met for their customary theological
disputations, Fra Lazzarino attacked the Dominican Lector, Fra
Bartolomeo Dominici, trying to discredit him amongst the
students as a disciple and admirer of Catherine. But when her
fame grew apace he had recourse to preaching against her.

^-"In the Middle Ages sermons played to some extent the part
(that newspapers play today, and polemics from the pulpit
resounded far and wide. If the preacher were learned, his addresses
were discussed and admired among ecclesiastics and intellectuals;
if he were a Saint, there was a constant stream of conversions, or
there arose religious movements, like fresh waves of Christian
life; if he were an eloquent or fiery speaker, he incited the crowds,
sometimes even to serious or bloody disturbances. Most of the
battle against the heretics was waged from the pulpits, whence
also the Crusades were preached, rulers were attacked or extolled,
and politicians or Religious praised and blamed. The commentary
and judgment on the events of the day were pronounced from the
pulpits, and thence also proceeded propaganda for war or peace.
Public opinion was guided in. this way. With the sermons came
the message of hate or love, destined to excite the passions or
unite men in brotherly love—and the preachers were correspond¬
ingly respected and feared.

Fra Lazzarino was well aware of the powerful effect of his
sermons, and therefore was sure of waging successful war against
Catherine. But his diatribes had no effect and his thunderbolts fell
to the ground. Disappointed but undeterred, he decided to visit

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY 79

this young woman, find out the weak points in her thought and
conduct, and so, with new and first-hand information, cleverly
elaborated in his own dialectic, he would at last achieve his
purpose. He begged Fra Bartolomeo to take him to Catherine’s
cell, and here is the Dominican’s own account of their first
encounter: ‘Going into the Tertiary’s cell, Fra Lazzarino sat down
at once on a small chest, and the maiden sat on the floor at his
feet; I seated myself a little apart, facing them. They were both
silent for a while; at last he began to speak: “I have heard praises
of your sanctity, and also that you have received from the Lord
the gift of understanding the Scriptures; for this reason I have come
to you willingly, in the hope of hearing something that will be
edifying for my soul”. Catherine replied at once: “I rejoice at
your visit, believing that the Lord has sent you to me—you who
have the knowledge of the Holy Scriptures, with which you
daily nourish souls, and I believe that, acting on an impulse of
love, you have come to find me to comfort my poor little soul.
I pray you therefore, for the love of Jesus Christ, to deign to do
so.” The time passed in such conversation, and when darkness
fell, Fra Lazzarino, without any mockery, such as he had intended,
but also without any great esteem for her in liis heart, rather
considering her as a woman of no great consequence, said: “I
see that it is late, and I must go now; but I shall return another
time, at a more suitable hour”. And he rose to go away. Catherine
followed him, and kneeling with her arms crossed on her bosom,
begged him to bless her, which he did. After this she asked him to
pray for her. Moved more by shame than by devotion, he asked
for her prayers in return, and she promised to pray for him very
willingly. So Fra Lazzarino went off, thinking that Catherine was
at heart a good woman, even if she did not deserve the fame she
enjoyed.

During the night, as was his custom, he arose to prepare the
lesson he was to read to his students in the morning—when
suddenly he was seized by a fit of weeping. What could this mean ?
Had he perhaps drunk a little more wine than usual during the
evening, or had he slept with his head uncovered? These reasons
did not convince him. Time went on; the hour for his lesson
came, and the tears still streamed from his eyes. He was still
lingering when his students came to call him; then he forced him-

80 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

self to go with them, but he had to interrupt his lesson almost at
once because his weeping would not stop. Going back to his cell,
he pondered and pondered, furious with liimself, wondering
whatever might be the motive of that uncontrollable flow of
tears. The following night he slept little, and as soon as he awoke,
he began to weep again. Discounting all physical causes, he asked
himself whether, perhaps, he had in some way offended God.
While he was reflecting, and examining his conscience, he thought
he heard a voice saying: “Is your memory so weak that you forget
that the day before yesterday you arrogantly scorned My faithful
servant, Catherine, and hypocritically begged for her prayers?”
This inner voice was a revelation; the irritation and dismay in his
soul vanished, giving place to calm and contentment. He stopped
weeping and felt an ardent desire to visit Catherine. As soon as
the dawn broke he left the monastery in haste and went to knock
on the door of her house. She herself opened to him, “aware of
what had been stirring in that man’s soul, through her Bride¬
groom’s operation”. Fra Lazzarino threw liimself at her feet, and
as she could not bear such an act of humility on his part, she also
knelt down, begging him to rise. He refused, but in the end they
agreed to rise together. The Friar entered her cell, and they both
seated themselves on the straw matting that covered the floor.
After a long spiritual colloquy, Fra Lazzarino, with profound
peace in his soul, offered himself to her as her disciple, and begged
her to consider him as one of her sons, and as such to guide him in
the ways of God. And when she replied that the ways of God are
laid down in the Scriptures, which he knew much better than she
did, he confessed to her that he knew only the outer rind while she
knew the fruit. When he insisted that she should accept him as
her son in Christ, and form him spiritually, she said to him: “The
way of salvation for your soul lies in despising the pomp of the
world, and worldly pleasures; clinging no longer to money, and
giving up everything superfluous, in nakedness and humility
follow Christ Crucified and your Blessed Father Francis”.

Lazzarino da Pisa then experienced that spiritual revolution of
the Christian religious life in which the tilings loved and esteemed
until yesterday become today the objects of our scorn, and the
soul, stripped of all earthly attachments, turns spontaneously to
the tilings of God. Catherine had read deeply in his soul, and dis-

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY 8 1

covered its nobility, although obscured by vanity, ambition, and
the lust for power and fame. She saw that it could become once
more free and beautiful, and therefore, with her prayers and words
she had brought him at first disquiet and then serene peace.

Fra Bartolomeo Dominici considers this conversion a replica of
that of St Paul. There is certainly a resemblance, but it is slight.
After his colloquy with her, Fra Lazzarino gave up his precious
books and went to live in the hermitage of Colombaio and San
Processo on Monte Amiata—as Fra Angelo Salvetti testifies, in
his deposition at the Processo Castellano—and left his cell only
to preach. His preaching was now reformed, being no longer
based on knowledge learnt in the Schools and in books, but on a
living experience, bom of contact with love. He had now at his
command ‘words as powerful as fiery darts to pierce the hearts of
his listeners’. We have no way of knowing whether Fra Lazzarino
remained in correspondence with Catherine, or sought her advice,
or belonged to her spiritual family. One letter from him to her,
and one letter to him from Catherine—all that we have left—
tell us nothing of this. His letter is cut in half, from top to bottom,
and it is impossible to reconstruct it entirely; Catherine’s letter,
dictated towards the end of her life, shows affection, understand¬
ing, unity of spirit. A certain wistfulncss pervades it all, as with
the presentiment of approaching death she turns to the man whom
she had initiated and directed into the divine life, and expresses
her wish to celebrate Easter with him, that they may enjoy together
the abundant goodness of God, and so be better able to know Him
hereafter. She exults in Christ, and opens her heart to Fra Laz¬
zarino as to a friend. Gardner, however, does not think that Fra
Lazzarino ever belonged to Catherine’s intimate spiritual family,
and probably he is right if one understands this family in the
strict sense of the group of those who were most often with her,
or accompanied her in her journeys, assisted her as secretaries, or
directed her as confessors; but if by her family we mean those in
whom she confided, and who owed to her much of their spiritual
progress, the great enthusiasts of her life and thought, then Fra
Lazzariono is to be numbered as not the least of her beloved
children.

★ ★ ★

Stories of her conversion of Fra Lazzarino da Pisa and of Andrea

82 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

di Naddino, her extraordinary care of Cecca, Palmerina and
Andrea, and numerous similar deeds, went the round of the city,
so that Catherine became more and more renowned. But this
meant nothing to her. She did good because it was her duty, but
her spirit was turned always to Christ. Tranees and visions followed
one another. One day she felt as if she were being dissolved by the
power of Love, another time a shower of blood and fire fell
upon her soul; once she was allowed to contemplate ‘a nameless
beauty’ whose ineffable sweetness enraptured her. When the
priest received Holy Communion he seemed to her to enter a
blazing furnace, and sometimes a little child came from between
the celebrant’s hands. She had the impression moreover that her
soul passed into God, and God into her, as the fish enters the water
and the water enters the fish.

But her longing for real union with Christ gave her no rest;
her striving became every day more intense, as she yearned to go
out of herself for ever, and lose herself in God. She wanted to die,
and in her continual prayers she invoked death without ceasing.
She yearned, suffered, waited. Her passion of love was so
vehement that she was shaken from head to foot, and left exhausted.
She felt she could no longer resist the power of Love, and she
began, in fact, to languish, to be consumed by Love. She yearned,
she suffered, she believed. She was obliged to take to her bed.
Her visions never ceased; her heart overflowed with love, and
still more love. She prayed and believed. Finally she felt her heart
break, and lost consciousness. When her companions who were
tending her saw that her unconsciousness lasted longer than in her
customary ecstasies, and they could feel neither the slightest beat
of her heart, nor faintest drawing of breath, they were frightened,
and ran to call Tommaso della Fonte, who came at once, together
with Tommaso da Siena. When the news of Catherine’s death
spread to the Dominican Priory, Fra Bartolomeo Montucci, with
the convert Giovanni da Siena, ran to her cell, then a crowd of the
faithful, admirers, proteges, and curious. FraBartolomeoDominici,
informed while preaching, interrupted his sermon and hastened
to her side. He could hardly press through the throng. Many were
weeping and many praying. Was it a swoon, or death? After
about four hours of total lifelessncss, when doubt was already
turning to anguished resignation, the first faint heartbeats were

FIRST SOCIAL AND APOSTOLIC ACTIVITY 83

felt again; they slowly gathered strength until, after several hours,
the whole body returned to life. Catherine came out of that state
which students of mystical phenomena call the state of suspended
faculties, and which culminates in the mystical death. But for her
it was a real death. What had she seen or heard? What secrets had
been revealed to her? Everyone wanted to know. But for two or
three days following she could do nothing but weep and sob.
As soon as she could speak she expressed her grief at finding her¬
self once more on earth. Fra Bartolomeo Dominici and Fra
Tommaso della Fontc, wishing at all costs to know what she had
heard or seen during those four hours of apparent death, pressed
her with questions. Catherine replied that her soul had entirely
left her body and that she had seen God. ‘But is that possible?
If St Paul, arriving in the third heaven, did not know whether he
was in the body or out of it, how can you say that you know?’
Catherine’s humility prevent her from arguing with Fra Bartolo¬
meo, and to Fra Tommaso della Fonte, who insisted that she
should tell what she had seen or heard, she said simply that she
had found herself in the presence of God, who had ordered her to
return to earth and enlarge the sphere of her apostolic work.
But many years later, speaking to Raimondo da Capua, who had
perfect trust in her, she said that besides seeing the glory of the
Saints, the torments of the damned, and the pains of Purgatory, she
had contemplated the essence of God: ‘Take it for certain that my
soul contemplated the Divine Essence, and diat is why I live with
such impatience in the prison of the flesh; if it were not for the
love of God and of my fellows, because of which the Lord made
me return into my body, I should die of grief’.

This mystical death was another major event in Catherine’s
life. She had now acquired a certain spiritual immunity—her
physical immunity had been revealed when she drank the pus—
and she was working among people with increased energy, in
obedience to the explicit command of God. She had known the
divine world, no longer only in spasms, or through images, or
by inner revelations; she had actually left her body to live—a few
hours only as men count them, but centuries for her—in immediate
contact with God. Returning to earth, she had found it colder and
darker than ever. Therefore, her mission was to reveal, as intensely
and as widely as possible, the luminous fire that burned in her

84 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

breast. One might even say that she felt herself to be part of the
fire and of the light—as if she were now made of fiery light
a l onc —of that flame with which Christ illumines those spirits
who are willing to accept Him. But to be accepted He must be
known, and to make Him known He must be preached. After
such a great resurrection Catherine must bear His purifying fire
and saving light to all men. This was in the autumn of 1370.
Then ‘began men and women to seek her out more dian before,
and come to her even from far away’. To all she offered her loving
service, her sufferings and prayers—and all were kindled by the
living and transforming flame of her soul.

Chapter IV

SIENA IN THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY

Siena had no great history, political or military. In the twelfth,
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries she was able to extend her
territory wisely, without much bloodshed. Except for some local
victories, and her triumphant success at Monteaperti, and her
defeat of Perugia in her campaign for the conquest of Cortona,
she could boast of no great feat of arms. Her Chronicles are
certainly full of struggles and battles, but almost all of these were
in internal warfare, of no great importance. When she went to war
with Florence she always got the worst of it, and as her ally she
was always subservient. Siena was never a warlike city, in the
strict sense of the word, her only great victory being Monteaperti,
her only great leader Provenzan Salvani; but she did not know how
to exploit her victory, and Provenzan Salvani was defeated and
died too soon.

Nor did Siena excel in diplomacy. When the Ghibelline League
was formed among the Italian cities, she was incapable of directing
it; she paid very dearly for any help she got from the Emperor, and
as an ally of the Pope, or of Giovanna of Naples, or of Florence or
Milan, she never counted for much. Needing an outlet to the sea,
she bought the port ofTalamone, of which she had great hopes,
but which profited her very little.

It is easy to say that the cause of this restricted external power lay
in the instability of her governments, in the sectarian spirit of the
parties or ‘Monti’, in the splitting up of political forces, and so on;
but these were immediate and superficial causes and not always
decisive. If we trace, for example, the internal political develop¬
ment of Siena, from the middle of the thirteenth century to the
end of the fourteenth century, we find six principal govern¬
ments—-not so many, after all, in a century and a half of republi-

85

86

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

can life. Of these, the Twenty-four ruled the city for thirty years,
the Thirty-six for ten years, and the Fifteen for eight years. The
Nine, who came after, ruled Siena from 1293 to 1355, that is for
sixty-three years, and were followed by the Twelve who lasted
till 1369, and the Reformers who ruled the republic till 1385.
Moreover, if we consider the Constitutions of the city in their
various editions and modifications, we find a progressive develop¬
ment. The grave quarrels among the citizens, the numerous
revolts and the ferocious hatred between certain families, that
sometimes led even the ‘Monti’ to side with one or the other, and
caused serious disturbances to city life—all these might lead one to
suppose that the history of Siena shows nothing but anarchical con¬
fusion, without any unifying and directing spirit, but this would
be to pay too much attention to details and to lose sight of the
general political development of the Sienese people. The Statutes
surviving today were often modified but never annulled by the
parties that followed one another to power, and a clear conception
of popular government can be seen in the documents that have
remained.

The fact that Siena never dominated Tuscany and played no
prominent part in the events of Italy or Europe in the Middle
Ages, is due to the somewhat effeminate, sensual character of the
Sienese people, incapable of pursuing political designs with
tenacity or resolution. The ‘Oriental’ characteristics of Sienese
art, which modem critics like to trace back to Byzantium or
Persia, derive for the most part from the Sienese temperament of
those centuries: ardent, dreamy, vain, as Dante truly said,
refined and voluptuous, and quite incapable of submitting to
discipline.

The Sienese were not given to self-sacrifice for the community.
They wanted to be great, but not at the cost of too much suffering.
In their eyes present enjoyment was worth more than remote
conquest, and glory easily won in their own city more precious
to them than the hard-won glory of vast enterprises. However,
when Siena was in danger and their independence threatened,
they struck back as one man, even against the Emperor liimself,
and showed courage, fortitude and daring; but only perhaps
because these occasions called for comparatively brief effort and
strain. Unlike the Florentines, they lacked the desire to dominate

St Catherine’s vision of Christ, by Bernardino Fungai. Siena, San Domenico. XVth century

SIENA IN THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY

87

others, and therefore did not feel the necessity for the strength
that proceeds from union and concord. It was difficult for them
to gather together the necessary energy to realise an ideal. We
have an example of their inconsistency in what remains of their
great Cathedral. If we contemplate those outer arches, worthy
to support the roof of heaven, they seem the creation of a race of
Titans; if we imagine the present Cathedral as merely the tran¬
sept of the Cathedral that was planned, and let our fancy dwell
on the great aisles that were to be built, we arc lost in the immen¬
sity of the construction.

But to reduce the immeasurable to harmony, and the colossal
to artistic proportions—that is a sublime dream, or the intoxication
of pride. Therefore the great ideal was never realised. If the Sienese
had matched their conception with determination we should
have today the great Cathedral of their dream. The Florentines,
with their innate sense of harmony, avoided the colossal, and would
never have planned a Cathedral of such gigantic proportions—or,
if they had done so, then they would have completed it, in the
teeth of economic bankruptcy, technical difficulties, the plague
itself. The imaginative Sienese lacked their quality of perse¬
verance.

We find in Siena the ideal of a paternal state, which tries to
pacify internal quarrels and provide for the welfare of its citizens
and their tranquil prosperity. Perhaps for this reason, when the
Sienese People's Party took over power from the nobles, they
never destroyed the powerful families of the city or countryside,
as did the Florentines, and although they excluded them from the
government they did not prevent them from wielding some
political power through the ‘Monte dei Gentiluomini’. Character¬
istic of this paternal state were the continual efforts it made to
reconcile hostile families, even begging foreign diplomats and
bishops to use their good offices in an attempt to effect a lasting
peace between the Salimbeni and the Tolomei, or other enemy
houses, for the good of the city as a whole, and to avoid blood¬
shed or repression.

The Sienese wanted prosperity and peace, and when they had
both the Chroniclers themselves recorded the fact with satisfac¬
tion : ‘The city was in great peace and tranquillity, and everyone

88 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

attended to his own business, and so they all loved each other like

brothers’.

With this peculiar character, half practical, half idealist, now
indulging in fantastic dreams, now attempting practical solutions,
the Sienese showed a strange mixture of self-indulgence and asceti¬
cism. Loving pomp but admiring poverty, they amassed enor¬
mous wealth, created masterpieces of art, and rose to great
religious heights. In the city, while the factions attacked and
ousted each other, trade flourished with Africa, Asia and Northern
Europe, and through trade the Sienese came into contact with
Oriental and French civilisations that aroused in them an aware¬
ness of their own creative faculties, and set them painting pictures
in which, as in their religion, they expressed the genius of their
race. Painting and religion are, as it were, the two opposite
extremes of the creative world, but in the Sienese soul sensuality
and other-worldliness could live in harmony. In their paintings
rich, fleshy, velvety colours acquired an almost spiritual transpar¬
ence, while their most ethereal visions appeared in warm colours
and striking relief. The painting of the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries in Siena was profoundly religious, and the Sienese
mystics at times spoke an almost fleshly language.

During St Catherine’s life the glorious period of Siena’s history
had already gone by. It is certainly not true, as Langton-Douglas
asserts, that ‘with the fall of the Twenty-four began the period of
Siena’s decadence’, or, as Zdekauer maintained, that the decline
of the Commune began in the last twenty years of the thirteenth
century. If that were so, we should have its decline before its
greatness. The thirty years (1240-1270) of the rule of the Twenty-
four were certainly vital years; the city nobles took over the power
from the feudal nobility, the people began to take part in the
government, the city successfully defended its independence
against the Florentines, and triumphed at Montcaperti, wealth
was accumulated, and the city was enlarged and made more
beautiful. This period, however, was one of growth, not of
maturity.

The grave defeat of Colie Val d’Elsa, only nine years after the
exultant victory of Montcaperti, revealed the weakness of Sienese
Ghibcllinism, adopted not in faith but for material advantage.
The Twenty-four did not represent the people, and their fall

SIENA IN THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY 89

initiated the people’s rise to power. The Thirty-six who followed,
a very mediocre government, represented the Guelph party,
which accorded well with Sienese interests because it stood for
nationalism and popular democracy. But this was a government
of transition, like those of the Fifteen, the Eighteen, and the Six.
Siena achieved greatness only during the rule of the Nine, which
lasted for sixty-three years. Under this government the city
enjoyed a long period of prosperity and glory. Painting, which
until then had been a reflection of the Byzantine school or a devel¬
opment of French illumination, now became original, and with
the work of Duccio, Simone Martini, Lippo Memmi and the
Lorcnzctti, rivalled that of Florence.

In architecture elegance and strength were mingled, and the
numerous public and private palaces gave the city a new look of
power and wealth. New churches were built, others restored and
embellished. Hospitals were endowed, charity increased, trade was
intensified and produced great wealth, while the bankers drew
large profits and the countryside prospered. There was great
activity in the city and surrounding country. Business flourished
for everyone. Between 1309 and 1310 the Constitution was
proclaimed. This was at the same time a Statute, a body of laws,
and a survey of the public and private life of the citizens, hi 1321
was started the ‘Studio Generale’, or University, which was soon
to boast of famous doctors, lawyers and rhetoricians. In 1327, as
far as we can judge, was held the first census of the citizens. The
Nine maintained the alliance with Florence, which ensured the
safety of the State, took up arms against the claims of Duke
Carlo of Calabria, and prevented the Duke of Athens from taking
possession of Siena; they guarded their frontiers jealously and
enlarged their territory, subduing communes and fiefs and pur¬
chasing lands and castles. Under their rule Siena acquired more
breathing space, and its citizens prospered because the city was
rich, wisely administered and ruled, and because within its walls
men worked and loved, and created masterpieces of art.

But every state, however fortunate, must decline. Towards

1338 Siena had reached the highest peak of her prosperity. In

1339 she was struck by a famine as well as ‘sickness and calamity’;
from 1341 to 1345 the bankruptcy of the Florentine bankers
involved many Sienese merchants in their fall; in 1345 Siena was
G

90 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

placed under a Papal Interdict. Industries began to languish, trade
dwindled, the banks were closed, or barely struggling along. The
power of the ‘Arti’, or Guilds, grew less, and with the worsening
of economic conditions, internal political control got slack and
foreign political enterprise shrank. The government, consisting
of rich merchants, the ‘fat’ bourgeoisie, was losing wealth and
therefore losing support. In 1348 came the plague, a very severe
blow for the city and the government. From 1342 onwards the
Sienese countryside had been devastated by companies of mercen¬
aries to whom the Republic had to pay 13,324 gold florins, besides
expenses of victualling and compensation, which amounted to
many more thousands of florins. In this way the leaders lost
command of the situation, and the parties in opposition gathered
strength. The Nine understood none of the new economic,
social and political problems that had arisen. They could have
taken into the government representatives of the ‘middle bour¬
geoisie’, and by so doing saved themselves; instead, faithful to their
Statutes, they kept out of all high office not only the nobles, but
all who had University education: doctors, notaries, lawyers,
judges—and did not notice that the middle classes were acquiring
the same power which had been theirs in 1288 and were now the
representatives of the people. They should have prevented the
union between the nobles and the ‘middle’ bourgeoisie, but they
did not do so. Every day the people’s distrust of the Nine grew,
until it became political hatred; and their fear of losing power led
the Nine to resort to repressive measures. The Emperor Charles
of Luxembourg, on his way through Italy to be crowned in
Rome, was receiving money, gifts and acts of submission from
the cities that owed allegiance to the Empire. The Nine dis¬
patched Ambassadors to him at Pisa to place the Republic at his
disposal, hoping to find in him a defender of their government.
The Sienese people disliked this gesture and national feeling was
shocked. The Nine were accused of abuse of their power.

Accusations and general hatred of the Nine increased until
suddenly the nobles and middle classes, with the intention of
ridding themselves of the government, appealed to the Emperor.
When on March 23rd, 1355, Charles halted in Siena, the
nobles and people hailed him as an ally and pitilessly set about
overthrowing the Nine and all their followers.

SIENA IN THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY 91

It was a wretched end for a government under whose rule the
city had been wealthy and glorious for more than half a century,
and meant the collapse of a Party that had numbered some excel¬
lent and hard-working men, and that had ruled generously for
the good of all. The ‘middle’ bourgeoisie was now the strongest
party, and set up a government of its own representatives only:
the Twelve, Rulers and Administrators of the Republic. The
nobles were given certain important charges, but excluded from
the government. The Twelve were mostly small traders, without
much administrative experience, without lofty ideals or political
science, quite unprepared to resolve the grave problems which
immediately arose. They suppressed the rebellious cities of
Grosseto, Montalcino, Montepulciano and Massa in long and
ruinous warfare. They were inept and cowardly when confronted
with the ravages made by the numerous Companies of Fortune,
preferring to buy these off with hundreds of thousands of florins
that the city had to find by means of costly loans. Under their
bad administration the economic condition of the Republic
grew steadily worse; they did not know how to maintain public
order, or rise above petty party interest. Ignorant as they were of
economics, nevertheless they could have consolidated their
position if they had generously provided for the well-being of the
whole city. Their failure was due to their lack of clear ideas and
lofty aims, and their use of abject means to attain their ends.
They were always more interested in striking down their personal
enemies than in working for the good of the state.

Unable to forget party resentments, by the law of August
7th, 1355, they obliged the Sienese to hold an armed review
every six months to mortify the Nine. Every year they were
solemnly to commemorate their glorious victory over them, to
humiliate them further. Moreover, the names of the Nine were
erased from the public Statutes. The Twelve did not sec that their
enemies, although defeated politically, and so discredited that for
the time being they had no chance of returning to power, never¬
theless represented a force which, even if it could not work
openly, was succeeding by underground methods in causing them
great vexation, conspiring with all their old and new enemies and
hampering their action. Ignoring all this, the Twelve went on
passing repressive laws. Woe to whoever ‘directly or indirectly’

92 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

spoke ill of the Twelve; woe to whoever doubted the justice of
their actions or grumbled; the punishments were often ferocious.
It may be said that at this period one half of the city lived to spy
on the other half; hence a sense of malaise all over the city, with
rancour and hatred increasing from day to day.

Such conditions were ideal for the rise to power of the lower
classes, the ‘popolo minuto’, or People’s Party. The nobles, who
had enjoyed some privileges under the Twelve, were now also
discontented, because they were excluded from die Supreme
Magistracy, and treated with suspicion and distrust by the Rulers.
They were determined to get power back into their hands,
and when on September 2nd, 1368, the nobles demanded the
Palace in order to take over the government dicmselves, the
cowardly Twelve, seeing themselves detested by all, offered no
resistance. So, ‘without drawing a sword’, the nobles returned to
power with the intention of reforming the government, and the
Twelve, who had lived without honour, died in infamy.

The nobles did indeed reform the government, and admitted
three representative of the Nine to a share in their Magistracy of
thirteen Consuls. They took over office on the 6th September,
but they lasted for only eighteen days, and were overthrown by a
combination of opposing forces, the Twelve, the ‘popolo minuto ,
the Salimbcni and the Malatesta.

From this revolt arose the Council of Reformers, consisting of
one hundred and twenty-four members, representing the Nine,
the Twelve and the ‘popolo minuto’. This was the first important
political success of the People’s Party. In October the Emperor
Charles IV, passing through Siena, gave his sanction to the new
government. But the ‘popolo minuto’, rapidly becoming aware
of its own strength, decided to take over the whole government.
On the nth of December, with ‘great clamour and tumult’, and
with the aid of the Malatesta, it swept away the Reformers and
formed its own Council of one hundred and fifty Reformers,
with a Magistracy of fifteen Defenders of the People. To placate
hatreds and antipathies, a few days later it gave places in the
Magistracy to four followers of the Twelve and three followers
of the Nine. This did not please the Twelve, however, who dis¬
liked sharing power with their sworn enemies the Nine. The
nobles also were rancorous because they were eliminated from

SIENA IN THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY 93

the government, and many of them were exiled. The Salimbeni
and Malatcsta were as ambitious and avaricious as ever. On the
22nd of December, 1368, the Emperor arrived in Siena on his
return from Rome. The Salimbeni and the Twelve then conspired
with him to overthrow the Reformers. Siena was very agitated
and full of rumours and suspicion. Finally, on the 18 th of January,
1369, the Twelve, the Salimbeni and the Imperial troops attacked
the Palace and drove out the Nine. This was the first step in their
scheme to take over the whole government, and the Reformers
and the ‘popolo minuto’ understood that the insurrection aimed
at their own overthrow also. They raised the cry: ‘The Emperor
wants to conquer Siena for himself and loot it !’ and roused the
populace against him. The poor Emperor was there almost by
chance, and they could easily have bought him off. Their real foes
were the Twelve and all the other enemies of the popular party,
and against these they had perforce to fight, and win. At this
juncture the state identified itself with the People’s Party, for
patriotic reasons, and for the defence of social and political
institutions. The foreigner was supported by the adversaries of the
people. It was a political, social and economic struggle. For this
reason, as soon as the Reformers clanged the great bell of the city
to call the people to arms, the whole populace arose at once, fight¬
ing with courage and tenacity—and against them even the well-
armed Imperial cavalry, with the forces of the Salimbeni and the
Twelve, were of no avail. The people were fighting for their own
social victory, and for their liberty, and their enthusiasm increased
their strength. They rushed upon the Imperial troops, struck down
their standard, defeated them and pursued them in all directions.
The Emperor, who was trying to put heart into his cavalry, was at
last forced to withdraw, and took refuge in the houses of the Salim¬
beni, where he was besieged and almost starved. He was obliged to
acknowledge in a golden Bull the Council of Reformers ofthe‘pop-
olo minuto’, and in exchange for this ‘many horses and other
property of his were restored to him’, and he was granted a loan of
some thousands of gold florins. For an Emperor who was skilled
in diplomacy and had made of Bohemia a homogeneous and
wealthy nation, this defeat must have been very galling.

Probably he did not understand the new warlike attitude of the
Sienese people, and their determination—due to their knowledge

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

94

that in defending the Reformers they were defending themselves.
He had known a Siena of partisans, split in opposing factions,
who hated each other bitterly, so that it had been enough to
support one of them with arms to ensure its victory. But now
tilings had changed. All the citizens had the right to vote, followers
of the ‘popolo minuto’, of the Twelve, or of the Nine. Every
Sienese man could and should go to his own Company and elect,
by secret ballot, two or three Reformers. Moreover, those elected
must have been Sienese citizens for at least twenty-five years, and
this gave a national character to the election. So that the ‘popolo
minuto’ might preserve its own supremacy, the Reformers
could only be chosen from the popular party, but they became
representatives of the whole city because they were elected by
other ‘Monti’ besides their own.

When the Emperor left Siena, although the People had
triumphed and the Nine were acclaimed and honoured, peace and
calm were not restored. The Salimbcni and the Twelve hoped to
avenge their defeat, and caused the government endless trouble.
The Reformers tried to consolidate their rule and at the same time
to soften their adversaries’ mood with just decrees and laws.

The names of the Twelve and Nine stood for unforgettable
divisions, and the very sound of them aroused rancour, hatred
and vindictiveness. So these names were abolished, and it was
forbidden to cry: ‘Death to the People!’ ‘Death to the Nine!’
‘Death to the Twelve!’ The nobles were invited to return to the
city, and to take some public offices. Rebels and impenitent
agitators were severely punished. These indicated excellent
intentions on the part of the Reformers, who were for the most
part honest men and loyal to the Republic, that they wished to see
peaceful, hardworking, wealthy and renowned. They knew when
to be severe and when to be benevolent, and were admired for
being less partisan than any of the preceding governments. But
their generous, just and enlightened conception of government did
not conciliate their opponents or establish peace. In August 1370
there was a particularly bloody revolt in the city, which resulted
in the Twelve losing their four places in the Magistracy, while
their followers were heavily fmed and forbidden to bear arms.
The population, however, remained very agitated, and riots and
street fighting took place continually.

SIENA IN THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY 95

The Reformers did their best to govern the Republic. They
stood out against the Salimbeni and the nobles, made wise pro¬
visions during the great famine of 1370, survived a dangerous
strike in 1371, fought the Twelve, and withstood the plots,
conspiracies, disorders, revolts and riots which so often afflicted
the city. They also resisted the Companies of Fortune, either
energetically in battle, or by cleverly buying their services, or by
paying thousands of gold florins to their Captains, to bribe them
to leave the territory of the Republic, or not to set foot in it.
They made useful treaties and alliance with other cities and states.
But in spite of being discreet politicians, able diplomats and honest
rulers of Siena, they had not the exceptional qualities needed to
calm all grudging personal jealousies and local hatreds; nor were
they able to unite all the citizens around the central ideal of the
greatness of the Republic. The spirit of faction was kept alive and
fomented by the Florentines, so that the Reformers still met with
tenacious opposition. So the nobles, the Twelve, the Nine and the
Florentines combined against the Reformers, who after the first
years of mild rule found themselves faced with such numerous
enemies that they had recourse to repressive measures, which were
sometimes bloody and cruel. They would condemn to death on
mere suspicion, and to imprisonment or torture for a trifling
offence. The finances of the city meanwhile deteriorated, the cost
of living rose, and the desire for peace became more insistent. So
finally the Reformers, after thirteen years of well-intentioned
government which had given the city some good social and
political laws, were overthrown on March 22nd, 1385, by their
own People’s Party. This was a bad thing for Siena, says the
Chronicler: ‘And I who write this, who am not a follower of the
Reformers, judged this to be ill done, because in this way much
harm and ruin were caused to the city of Siena—for altogether
four thousand good artisan citizens were expelled from the city,
and not even the sixth part of them ever returned’.

In the midst of such uncertainties, fears, hatreds, struggles and
slaughter, one can understand how a woman like Catherine
gathered around her a crowd of admirers and disciples, and how
in her company men found the charm of peace, while all around
was unrest and war.

Chapter V

THE WINNER OF SOULS

When we turn from the history of Siena, compact of revolts,
hatreds, terror, violence, conflicts, assassinations and executions,
to go back to Catherine’s cell, it is like leaving the noise and whirl
of a vast city to enter a cloister. We seem to cross the threshold
of a mysterious realm of silence and peace. The trim lawns, so
freshly green, the few rose trees that often bear but one solitary
rose each, of dreamlike colour and form, the harmony of the
arches, whose columns stand out like silver Byzantine arabesques
against the green and gold background, the huge grey and russet
pile of the church beyond the cloister, and above it, the bell-
tower that soars as if built of sighs, prayers and light—all this makes
us forget our work and worry for the things of this w'orld, and
even forget also the passing of time and the anguish of the spirit.

_ Catherine’s ennobling words had the same fascination for men

as the thought of health for the sick man, of freedom for the
captive; both the inner cell of her spirit and the outer cell of her
room offered the weary in soul and body an oasis of peace. In the
commotions of the life of her city she was not an arbitrator, as
some writers, far from understanding her soul, would have us
believe; she was the friend of God, and sought no contact with
politics or politicians. If the politics of the Republic had exercised
any attraction over her, what better chance could she have found
to make her voice heard than in the years between 1368 and 1372,
years of continual revolts, unrest, and civil strife? She might have
recalled the citizens and governments to a closer observance of
Christian precepts; she might have denounced the deceits,
falsehoods, treacheries and innumerable political crimes that were
perpetrated before her eyes every day, and that must have shocked
her deeply. If she had been a woman inclined to political life, as

96

THE WINNER OF SOULS 97

she has often been represented, she would in those years have
made known her views as to how the Republic should be ruled,
and have prescribed the remedies she thought necessary for the
numerous ills that afflicted the city. She did not do so, because
she felt no inclination for political life, knowing only one sort of
life, that of Christ. Absorbed in Him, she was entirely preoccupied
with saving individual souls. She may have thought, perhaps,
that by converting the citizens she might in this way succeed in
setting up a government of love. Probably she distinguished
sharply between the two cities, the city of God and the city of this
world, and took no interest in the latter—for she was only
concerned with the city of God, as we see in the letter she sent to
Madonna Mitarella* wife of the Senator Vico da Mogliano,on the
occasion of a revolt that took place about the middle of the year
3:373, against the application of a sentence pronounced by the
Senator.

In 1368 and 1369, as the early biographers tell us, she was entirely
taken up with her loving care for the sick in mind and body,
alleviating their distress and distributing food and clothing. In
1370 she began her work among the greatest sinners, and we hear
of spectacular conversions. Most of these can be placed, approxi¬
mately, between 1370 and 1374. The series opened with the
sudden death-bed conversion of Andrea di Naddino de’ Bellanti,
who belonged to the party of the Nine, ‘rich in family and tem¬
poral substance, but poor in virtue—in fact, a gambler, blasphemer
of God and the Saints, obstinate in sin and in wishing to die
unshriven. Salvestro de’ Manzii, in the Annali di Siena, calls him
‘a rare rascal’. Catherine was asked to pray for him, and did so
with such fervour that Andrea was converted, and, on the 16th
of December, 1370, died a Christian death.

Then we have the conversion of various members of the
Tolomei family, most surprising of all the sudden conversion of
Giacomo Tolomei, ‘a strange and very terrible man’. When he
heard that his sister Ghinoccia had become a Tertiary through
Catherine’s influence, he ‘came back to the city in a great fury,
cursing not only the Sisters but the Friars also, and threatening to
tear the habit from his sister’s back’. Informed of this by Rabe,
the mother of the Tolomei, Catherine at once sent Fra Tommaso
^Letter XII. Dupre-Theseider, cd.

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

98

della Fonte to speak with Giacomo. The somewhat timid Fra
Tommaso took with him Bartolomeo Dominici. It was not a
cordial encounter and soon became an unpleasant dispute. Fra
Tommaso had lost all hope of succeeding in his intent when Fra
Bartolomeo came to his help. The conversation at once began to
take another turn, and Giacomo gradually calmed down, and at
last consented to give way, and to go to confession. The two
Dominicans were astounded. What had taken place in his soul?
Later on they learnt that Catherine, in an ecstasy, had been praying
to God for him all the time they were talking, and that her prayer
had been powerful enough to touch his heart, and so to ‘make the
wolf a lamb, and the lion a puppy’.

Catherine’s little group of companions, which already included
the Tertiary Francesca Tolomei, was now joined by her sister
Ghinoccia; the youngest brother, Mattco, became a Dominican.
So a branch of one of the great families of Siena was completely
won over to Catherine’s cause.

About this time occurred the conversion of two malefactors.
They were being drawn to execution on a cart, and on the way
the hangmen were torturing diem with hot pincers. Catherine
was at the house of the Saracini, and her fellow Tertiary, Alessa
Saracini, told her that under the windows of the house was
passing a cart bearing two criminals, who were horribly blas¬
pheming against God and the Saints, while their torturers burnt
their flesh with red-hot pincers. Catherine came forward ‘to the
middle of the room, and hearing and understanding their des¬
perate cries, at once went into an inner room and cast herself on
her knees before a picture of Our Lady, praying: “You who are
appointed advocate for sinners, intercede now for these, and, if
you will, lay all their torment upon me”. When the cart arrived
at the place of execution, Christ appeared to the two evildoers,
and at once their cursing and defiance ceased. They made their
confessions, and then fell to praising God and “in a loud voice
accused themselves, saying they had deserved this punishment
and a much worse fate too”; so, devout and contrite, they were
both hanged.’

As Catherine’s fame and authority grew, so other Mantellate
came to live with her: Caterina de’Ghetto, Caterina dell’
Ospedaluccio, Monna Raniera, Giovanna di Capo, Agnola di

THE WINNER OF SOULS 99

: T r

Vannino and others. These were as faithful as her earlier followers,
and assisted her day and night, sometimes acting as her secretaries,
accompanying her on her journeys, or receiving her visitors when
she was in ecstasy, or away. Unlike the first companions of St
Francis, they were not endowed with any great intellectual
gifts, nor were they noteworthy in character. None of them
stands out distinctly from the others, we know nothing of their
spiritual traits, and if any of them wrote any Memoirs of Catherine,
none of these, so far, has come to light. They were good, worthy
women, following Catherine about as if fascinated by her,
asking her to guide and support them in the difficult way of
spiritual perfection. She was their teacher and their mother too.

They had no Rule, beyond that of the Third Order of St Dom¬
inic, to regulate their daily life, and they were only held together
by Christian love and their admiration for the Saint. They passed
together many hours of the day, ate and prayed together, but
without a fixed timetable, remaining a small free congregation,
whose life depended on the religious ardour that Catherine
imparted to them all.

The Saint was glad to be with these Sisters, and interested her¬
self in their spiritual life and in their external activity—but their
company could not suffice for her. Her charity was all-embracing
and she felt an urgent need to extend her range of action; she
wanted to learn from those who knew more than she did, and
could teach her.

Her cell, besides being a place of prayer and ecstasy, gradually
became a centre for theological and ecclesiastical conversations,
and even for Papal politics, which for her meant Christian politics.
Her visitors became more and more numerous, and often had fresh
news and information to impart; they reported current events,
speculated on the future of Siena and its territory, or on that of the
Florentine Republic, the Papacy, the Visconti, or the Companies
of Fortune. When not rapt in ecstasy or prayer, she listened
eagerly to the arguments of the learned Religious who came to her
cell, begged for explanations, tried to understand and make her
own the thoughts of St Thomas that the Dominicans expounded
to her, and did not fail to reconcile them with Augustinian and
Franciscan conceptions, so that her intellectualism was coloured
with Franciscan feeling, as we see in the ‘Dialogue’ and her letters.

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

100

In her cell she heard talk about the Pope’s return to Rome, and
then of his departure once more for Avignon, about the possibility
and necessity of new Crusades against the infidels, or the urgency
of a moral reform of the clergy. So the first seeds of ideas, that were
to be so fruitful later on in her life, were probably sown in her
mind during some of these general conversations, or comment¬
aries on recent events. It has been asked how it was that Catherine
got her ideas of the Crusades, to which the reply has been given
3 iat she ‘must have known that Gregory XI was a fervent promoter
of the Crusades’, and that she was influenced by the thought of
Raimondo da Capua, f This is true, but most probably Catherine
was thinking about the Crusades and following their fortunes
even before the pontificate of Gregory XI. She was always in
close touch with the Dominicans, who were most enthusiastic
supporters of the Crusades, and in the pulpit or in private always
boasted of the Crusaders’ exploits and preached the necessity for
the campaign. Moreover, in June 1368, when Catherine had
already begun her social activity, there arrived in Siena Pietro the
First, King of Cyprus, with three hundred knights, all guests of the
Friars of San Domenico in Camporegio, ‘and there were many
fine people, and the most honourable Prince, with the best horse,
and the most wonderful possessions, that ever entered Siena’. He
stayed some days in the city and distributed gifts to those who went
to visit him.

Pietro the First was tall, with blue eyes and brown skin and hair.
He was of majestic appearance and bearing. His knights in their
sumptuous garments accompanied him everywhere. He was ad¬
mired by all who saw him. There is no contemporary Chronicler of
any city where he stayed, were it only for a few hours, but sings
his praises. When Pietro came to Siena he already enjoyed an extra¬
ordinary fame. Urban V had praised him warmly, he had been
victorious in battle, all Europe considered him as great a Crusader
champion as Godfrey of Boulogne, and he was called the defender
of Christianity in the East. No one yet knew that in Rome the
Pope, busied with more immediate and more pressing problems,
had refused him the help he had hoped for. In Siena Pietro was
the illustrious champion of Christendom, who had won glory

t Duprd-Thcscider: ‘Cronologia dtlle Lettere Politiche di Caterina e la Critica Moderna
Studii Cateriniani I, 1924, No. 3, pp. 123-4.

THE WINNER OF SOULS 101

warring against the Mahomedans, admired by all, beloved by the
Church, and specially by the Dominicans. The Preachers of
Camporegio must have been proud to receive him as their guest.

hi Siena, as everywhere else, the king certainly spoke in favour
of a new Crusade against the infidels, and with his eloquence
aroused enthusiasm among the Dominicans and other faithful
for the ‘santo passaggio’, or holy expedition. Catherine, who
spent several hours a day in the church of San Domenico, and was
in continual contact with the Dominican Fathers, must have
heard about the glorious exploits of the King of Cyprus and his
plans for the defence of Christendom. We have no document
to prove or disprove this, but in all probability King Pietro’s
visit to Siena brought the whole conception of the Crusade more
vividly into Catherine’s mind.

Now that the longed-for champion had arrived, a guest of her
own city, she was strengthened in her belief that to take part in
the Crusades was the bounden duty of all Christians. During this
period also she must have heard a great deal of talk about Urban V.
When William of Grimoard was elected Pope in 1362, a fresh
confidence in the Papacy was aroused throughout Europe. After half
a century of decadence the glorious days of Boniface VIII, of Inno¬
cent III and Gregory VII seemed about to return. Urban V was a
man of strong character, of clear and precise ideas; ‘wodo habenms
papatn had exclaimed Talleyrand de Perigord at his election, an
election greeted enthusiastically by all, including the poet Petrarch.

A hardy Benedictine, he was learned, swift to plan and prompt
to act. No one could deter him from undertaking what he had in
mind to do for the good of the Church. He considered his duty
as a Christian and as Pope to be sacred, and would have courted
death rather than neglect it. Moral standards at the Papal Court and
among the clergy were low: they must be corrected and reformed.
European politics were slipping away from the control and auth¬
ority of the Church: the power of the Papacy must be re-estab¬
lished over kings and political leaders. He was a reformer; he
obliged the high dignitaries of the Church to give up abusing
their power; he opposed their simony, pomp and avarice, usury
and worldliness; he punished immorality among the clergy; he
forced the bishops to reside in their dioceses; forbade plurality of
benefices; demanded the restoration of illicit gains; protected

102

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

studies; rebuilt churches and convents; did all he could to
promote virtue among the clergy.

Politically, by means of Cardinal Albornoz, he strengthened the
temporal power of Italy, curbed the extending might of Bernabo
Visconti, tried to re-establish a European equilibrium, preached
with great fervour the Crusade against the infidels, and returned
to Rome as the natural seat of the Papacy.

These were intentions and deeds that aroused the admiration
and confidence of his contemporaries. Today, when we consider
the results achieved by Urban V, we find them very slight. It is
true that he brought about a higher standard of morality in the
Curia and in the dioceses, but at his death the way of life in
ecclesiastical circles was very much the same as before his election;
the Crusades failed, and he himself, towards the end of his life,
supported them but feebly; he had poor success in his efforts
towards European peace; when Albornoz died the Papal States
revolted, and he was unable to suppress them; he tried to get rid
of the scourge of the French mercenary bands by sending them to
fight in the Holy Land, but failed in this also; he forced the
Cardinals to obey him, but without their full consent; after three
years of residence in Italy, the greater part of the time not in Rome
but in Viterbo and Montefiascone, he returned to Avignon. He
did not succeed in his principal aims, and this may be due to his
own insufficient sanctity, which was never of the sort to arouse
consciences and sway peoples; moreover, his policy could not
succeed because it was dictated by human wisdom, grafted, it is
true, on Christian principles, but with these latter too carefully
weighed and measured; his plans failed because he lacked the
constancy to press through to the end with every single under¬
taking, and because he was too apprehensive for himself and for
the Church. Nevertheless, his political experiments and his moral
reforms served to prepare the ground for the future, and his
insistence on the Papacy’s return to Rome was particularly
effective, even if this return, in his case, lasted only for a few years.
It was a triumphal return, longed for and welcomed in Italy with
hymns of joy, such as Petrarch’s ‘Epistole’. All the Italian states
congratulated Urban V, and Siena sent her representatives, with
many other of her citizens, to welcome him at the port of Tala-
mone, with gifts of wax and confectionery.

THE WINNER OF SOULS

103

Among the Religious of Siena the chief topic of the day in 1367
was the meeting of Colombini with the Pope when he disembarked
at Corneto on the 3rd of June. In that year Catherine was leading
a very secluded life, but the echo of this event may have reached
her through the Dominicans, or she may have learnt of it later
from the nuns of Santa Bonda with whom she was on friendly
terms. Giovanni Colombini had written some epistles to these
nuns, describing what had happened.

The Pope, surrounded by his imposing and luxurious court,
had deigned to notice Giovanni and his band of sixty ragged and
filthy companions, and so they gratefully sang the praises of their
spiritual Father. One wonders whether Urban felt in these
Poverelli a saintly purity and an enthusiasm worthy of Heaven.
Colombini himself says: ‘And then as the hour of his coming
approached we went to the sea shore, where great preparations
were being made to receive the Holy Father and the Cardinals,
and by God’s grace, to the best of our power we worked and
helped to prepare the Holy Father’s room, and we got ready his
bed, and the beds for the Cardinals, and we received many thanks
for this. Then, when the Holy Father came, we stood on the
bridge or at the side, where almost everyone was embraced. Then
we saw him come, and with him seven Cardinals, and it was the
most beautiful devout thing ever seen. And we saw him stepping
out of the ship, looking really holy. We all had olive branches
round our heads and in our hands, and we cried out all the time:
“Christ be praised, and long live the Holy Father!” and we were
singing his praises and rejoicing, and by the grace of God room
was made for us everywhere; all thanks and all glory to the
supreme God! And mark you, all the princes of the world were
there, and with such devotion that it was a wonderful tiling to see.
Francesco and I, and Giovanni di Piero kissed his feet, as did
likewise other Poverelli, and two of them helped to support his
canopy, that was held over his head. Then when he got to land he
rode in the midst of festive rejoicings to the Brothers of St Francis;
we, bearing our olive branches, kept as near to him as we could,
and when he was told about us, he said he wished to sec us and to
help us. But such was the press of foreigners and ambassadors and
other nobles about him that tills was not possible.’

The recognition of the Poverclli’s orthodoxy, the help they

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

104

received from the Pope, and their kind reception at the hands of
the Cardinals and prelates, filled Colombini and his followers
with joy, and the nuns of Santa Bonda, with the many friends and
admirers they had in Siena, shared in their joy.

If Catherine knew of Urban’s visit to Italy she must also have
known about his intentions and his achievement. From the
pulpits and in conversations the Dominicans certainly expounded
and commented on the Pope’s various Bulls in favour of the
‘Holy Expedition’. The reform of the clergy also was pleasing to
the Dominicans, who had worked hard to that end; and the Pope’s
plans for European peace, which met with the approval of all
peoples, must have found perfect comprehension in Catherine’s
heart. From that time on she adopted as her own message the
preaching of the Crusades, the promotion of peace in Europe, and
the reform of the clergy. Her own personal observations, and
what she herself had suffered at the hands of several wicked Friars
and nuns, besides what she heard reported in the city, must have
convinced her that amongst the clergy it was necessary to extir¬
pate covetousness, envy, vanity, malice, the love of soft living and
high office, sensuality, jealousy, violence, uncharitableness, and
the neglect of their religious duties, and to form a body of exemp¬
lary priests and friars who should tend the poor and the afflicted,
be spiritually united to God, and live for the good of their fellows.
She approved of all Urban’s work, and shared the enthusiasm of
the Religious for his return to Rome. Everyone rejoiced when
the Emperor passed through Siena in 1368 on his way to the
Eternal City, and re-entered Siena on October 21st, holding
the bridle of Urban’s horse, and later, on the Feast of All Saints,
served the Papal Mass on the occasion of the crowning of the
Empress. But on September 5th, 1370, it was learnt that the
Pope had embarked at Corneto and set sail for Provence. On the
10th of December of the same year Urban died at Avignon. As soon
as the news reached Italy the people said it was God’s punishment,
without reflecting that the Pope, who was very ill, would have
died as soon in Rome as anywhere else. The prophecy of Brigid
of Sweden was at once believed. She had urged the Pope not to
leave Italy, and had sent him a written description of the awful
vision she had had concerning him. Generally speaking, prophecies
are exact post rent ; that is, in later events we see only those facts,

THE WINNER OF SOULS

105

very often fortuitous, that correspond more or less to the terms
of the prophecy; in this case, however, there were precise indica¬
tions ante rent which were indeed remarkable.

The Blessed Virgin had appeared in a vision to Brigid and had
told her that Pope Urban had returned to Rome, through the
inspiration of the Holy Spirit, and that she, the Blessed Virgin, had
watched over him during the long voyage from Avignon,
shielding him from ail harm. She went on to say that she was
surprised at the way in which the Pope was now behaving
towards her. ‘He docs not look at me; he turns his back on me,
and is forsaking me to go where the wiles of the devil lead him,
and the counsels of his worldly friends, who care more for their
own pleasure and their own will than for God’s will and the
salvation of souls. But if he insists on returning at all costs to the
land where he was elected Pope, soon after he arrives there he
will receive such a blow and buffet that his teeth will chatter. . . .’
She added that after death, on the day of judgment, he would
have to render an account to God not only of what he had done
as Pope, but of what he had omitted to do.

One can understand that in an age when prophecies were much
believed in, the death of Urban V, coming little more than three
months after embarking at Cometo, left people thunderstruck.
The popularity enjoyed by St Brigid contributed to spread the
belief that Urban had been punished by God. How was it that
Urban, who knew St Brigid’s virtue, her selflessness and holiness,
and the truthfulness of some of her earlier predictions, had paid no
heed to the grave prophecy that concerned himself?

He may have considered the prophetess to be somewhat
ingenuous, as all prophets are, and perhaps he listened with rather
ironical patience to the long account she had given him one day of
a vision she had had of the ills of the Church and the remedies
necessary—all described in a sententious and highly pictorial style
—although he must have known that the facts were true and the
remedies needful. The Church was certainly corrupt in the laity,
clergy and Papal court; Urban had known that for a long time,
and the knowledge had pained him. He had done all he could to
bring about reforms, but the evils were still great, and it was there¬
fore necessary to bring the Church back to evangelical purity and
poverty: a hard, almost impossible task, given the nature of man.
H

106 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

Genuine religious reforms spring from men’s innermost souls,
and are not imposed from without. In those years most of the
clergy and laity felt no inner urge to purify themselves; hence the
impossibility of a thorough and general reform. But as far as his
own efforts went Urban had been an example of priestly virtue
since he became Pope, and to the best of his powers had compelled
Cardinals, bishops and abbots to lead a less worldly life. What
more could he have done? He would willingly have transformed
the Papal court into a cloister, but who would have stayed with
him there, except a few ascetics and Saints, who were already
leading a strict and pure life? In all probability, by so doing and
by disregarding the political and diplomatic role exercised by the
Papacy in the world, he would have weakened its moderating
influence, and diminished or destroyed the power of the Papal
State. A Pope of the Middle Ages, even if a monk and a reformer,
could hardly conceive of Christendom without some temporal
power for the Holy See. Although he considered Brigid of
Sweden’s immediate and drastic remedies impracticable, Urban
admired her greatly, recognised the holiness of her life, and had so
much faith in her visions that, shortly before he left Italy, he sent
his own confessor to her to ask for a revelation of God’s will with
regard to the Church. It is therefore surprising that he chose to
ignore the Saint’s dreadful prophetic threat, as well as the entreaties
of fiiends like Petrarch, and saintly bishops such as Alfonso di
Valdaterra.

If we study the motives that led Urban to return to Avignon we
find ourselves agreeing with those who consider he was fully
aware of his own grave illness and, knowing his end to be near,
desired that the new Conclave should be held in a land where, as
he thought, there was more freedom than in Rome. He gave no
thought to himself and was persuaded neither by the French
Cardinals nor by any other personal reason. During his sojourn in
Italy he had come to believe that a free Papal election could not be
held in Rome, and it was for the sake of the Church of the future
that he paid no heed to counsels, appeals, tears or threats.

In our day we can see that if Urban V had stayed in Rome the
schism that broke out eight years later with Urban VI would have
occurred during the pontificate of his own successor—with
perhaps even direr consequences, but in the Italy of 1370 no one

THE WINNER OF SOULS

107

could realise tills. It was thought, instead, that Urban, old and
sick, was a weakling in the power of the French Cardinals. He was
called by some a sentimentalist, who could not live far away from
his own country, and some even declared him a traitor.

What Catherine thought we do not know, nor how she judged
him. Probably she refrained from any judgment, as she would
have thought it sinful to think ill of the Vicar of Christ. In fact,
between 1373 and 1374 she was writing to Bemabo Visconti:
‘Even if the Vicar of Christ were a devil incarnate, I must not
raise my head against him, but always humble myself’.

If she refused to judge the Pope because he was the Vicar of
Christ, all the more would she have refrained from pronouncing
judgment on Urban V, whom she must greatly have admired for
his moral reforms, and for his advocacy of the Crusades. We get
a glimpse of her admiration for him in a letter she wrote to
Gregory XI in 1376, urging him to follow the example of his
predecessor who, when he was in doubt about any tiling, consulted
his Cardinals, but when his mind was made up ‘he paid no heed
to their counsels, but followed his own, and cared not that they
were all against him’.

No document reveals her thoughts about Urban’s departure
from Italy. She must have grieved over it, and probably at this
time there began to form in her mind the definite idea that it was
the Pope’s duty to reside in Rome. This was not the right moment
for her to seek a solution of tills problem; other cares were pressing
upon her. Her days were full; in the cause of God not a minute
could be wasted. She was in ecstasy, wafted to the Heavens, seeing
wondrous creatures, hearing the music of angels, rejoicing in the
infinitudes of the divine spirit, or praying with irresistible fervour
for the welfare of her friends or the salvation of sinners; or she was
succouring the unfortunate, gathering in her cell old and new
acquaintances, reading their hearts with wonderful insight,
counselling and admonishing, soothing passions, reconciling
hostile families, working in their souls through the love of God.
Her sphere of action spread further every day; her fame travelled
beyond Siena and its province, and soon reached Rome, Florence,
Milan and Avignon, diffused chiefly by the Dominicans. Enriched
with ever-new experiences, she formed a still clearer conception
of the great misery of mankind, and the immense social signifi-

108 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

cance of the Christian message. The ardour which she drew from
continual contact with the divine was transfused into whoever
approached her; she had her own standards of judgment; hardly
anyone could resist her smile, and those who entered her cell
‘attracted by her very sweet words’, could not tear themselves
away from her. She was always ready to make any sacrifice, took
no rest in her service for others, and faced with fortitude whatever
difficulties or sufferings her apostolate brought her.

In these years, perhaps in 1372 or 1373, the Dominican Fra
Simone da Cortona became her favourite ‘little son’. Fra Simone
was as shy as a young girl, and very easily hurt. His heart over¬
flowed with love, and he was given to violent outbursts, which he
managed to control because he was ashamed to let them be seen.
When there were other Friars in Catherine’s cell, who were
obviously quite at home there, he would not go inside, but stayed
dumbly without, grieving at not being able to hear his ‘mother’s’
inspiring words. He wanted to listen to her ‘fiery speech’ alone,
lost in blissful contemplation of his saint, far from prying glances,
and to open to her his very sensitive heart, always thirsting for
affectionate and encouraging words. Catherine at once guessed his
silent devotion, his honesty, his touchiness, and the twinges of
jealousy which tormented him; she guided him into spiritual
paths with exquisite tact. ‘Bless my little son, Fra Simone; tell
him to open the mouth of his desire to receive the milk that his
Mother will send him’, she asks someone to tell him; or ‘Tell Fra
Simone that I shall take the cord of love, and bind him to my
bosom like a mother and her little son’; and again: ‘Tell Fra
Simone, my little son in Jesus Christ, that the son is never afraid to
go to his mother, but runs to her, especially when he is hurt, and
his mother takes him in her arms and lifts him up to her breast
and feeds him; even a bad mother will always lift him up to the
breast of love.’

These words and counsels must have filled him with emotion,
as on those occasions when Catherine showed special kindness to
him. One day when he was sick and feverish he went with Fra
Tommaso della Fonte to see the Saint, who was at table with the
other Tertiarics. Fra Tommaso cheerfully and naturally at once
seated himself at table, but Simone stayed ‘further away, a little
apart’, afraid of having come at the wrong time, and of being

THE WINNER OF SOULS 109

unwanted. Catherine then called him, and when he hastened
joyfully forward she made him sit down beside her and began to
feed him as if he were a child—one spoonful for him, and the next
for her. The distaste for food, which he had felt before, vanished
as if by magic. Catherine then embraced him and made the sign
of the Cross over him; his fever and sickness left him at once. The
shy, timid, touchy Simone had a very tender heart; he never
ceased singing her praises, and as an old man, many years after her
death, still showed a fresh, ingenuous admiration for his ‘little
Mother’.

About this time Ncri di Landoccio Pagliarcsi also became a
‘caterinato’. One cannot state exactly when he first met Catherine,
but we believe it was at the beginning of 1372, and that it was
shortly afterwards that he wrote to her asking her to receive him as
a son. She replied: ‘You asked me whether I would receive you
as a son; I, miserable, unworthy and wretched as I am, have
already received you, and receive you now with fond love, and I
bind myself and shall bind myself always before God to be
answerable for you, for any sin you have committed or might
yet commit. But I beg you to fulfil my desire, that is, to follow
Christ Crucified, withdrawing yourself completely from inter¬
course with the world, as I have said before. In no other way can
we follow Christ.’ Neri became her disciple, son, travelling
companion and fond faithful secretary. He belonged to a distin¬
guished family; he was a member of the general council for St
Martin’s ward in 1371 and in 1375, and received offices and
commissions from the Commune. He was also a poet. Before he
met Catherine he was much admired by his friends, ‘because he was
very virtuous and pleasing, and an excellent writer of fine poems’,
and after joining her circle he was much loved and admired by
her followers. He was of a melancholy character, often discon¬
tented and full of doubts. The two poems of his we still have
cannot give us an idea of his creative talent. His sensitive soul
loved the poetry of Dante, and he tried to imitate its verse, but
without showing any touches of personal genius.

Catherine understood Ills troubled soul and the delicacy of his
feelings; she succeeded in drawing him out of the despondency
into which he often fell, and in teaching him self-conquest.
Whether near or far, she sustained him with her prayer, and her

IIO

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

affectionate advice was always an encouragement to him to
persevere. He thought of her as his necessary support, and confided
everything to her, because he felt that she gave him the strength
to continue to live, both materially and spiritually. When he
feared that God would not forgive him his sins, and gave way to
momentary despair, she showed him the absurdity of such a fear
and prevented it from becoming a conviction. When she died he
felt as if he were abandoned in a wilderness, and bewailed:

‘Tell me, who will save me now from an evil end?

Who will preserve me from delusions?

Who will guide me when I try to climb?

Who will console me now in my distress?

Who will ask me now: “Arc you not well?”

Who will persuade me that I shall not be damned?’

After 1370 Catherine’s apostolate took on a new form of
expression, in her letters. Those words of hers, so full of urgency
that they converted sinners and dragged them penitent before
God, imploring Him to grant them purity of life, those joyful
words that extolled the glory of Christ, and others, full of
delicate understanding, that stole their way into people’s souls;
words as ethereal as an evening sky, that bids farewell to all things
earthly; strong, positive, determined, convincing words, like the
voices of nature—these were to be fixed for all time. We do not —
^ know how or when she felt die need to write letters. Those that
survive today are only a fraction of die numberless epistles she
wrote, so that those we consider to be her first, in order of time,
may well be later than many others, now lost.

In his excellent re-arrangement of Catherine’s ‘Epistolarium’,
Duprc-Theseider rightly places as two of the early letters one
written to the nuns of Santa Marta, and the odicr to Monna
Agnese Malavolti and the Sienese Tertiaries. Perhaps he dates
the former a little too early, ascribing it to 1367. hi that year, or at
least until towards the end of it, Catherine was busied almost
exclusively with her own spiritual development, and could
hardly have felt herself sufficiently authoritative to give advice to
an Abbess. Moreover, every action of hers was controlled and
approved by Fra Tommaso della Fonte, and it is hardly likely
that he would have allowed her to despatch a letter written in the
style of a spiritual teacher. In 1367 Catherine was known as a

Ill

THE WINNER OF SOULS

contemplative or ascetic, but about the significance of her spiritual
life even Fra Tommaso was still perplexed. He could hardly have
let pass phrases like these: ‘Now I command you and compel you
to show that you desire to have this knife in you’—that is, the knife
of hate or love, or: ‘I want you not to desire time according to
your own will, but according to the will of Him who is’. These
phrases imply, in their author, an authority that Catherine had not
yet assumed; she was to acquire it a few years later, after her
mystical death in 1370. It may therefore be supposed that her
correspondence began about that year.

Letter-writing considerably extended Catherine’s range of
action; her letters were sincere, direct, full of truth and the spirit
of justice, sometimes seeming almost to sweat blood, at other
times glowing with ardour, always full of an infinite love of
Christ. They had great power to move souls and to impart their
own fervour to others, so that she became known not only in
Siena and the province, but farther and ever farther afield, to all
sorts of people. Her spiritual directors realised that letters so
burning with love must promote the good of the Church, and so
they encouraged their diffusion.

Her own spiritual condition is expressed in the letters she wrote
before going to Florence. We must know ourselves, she says,
before we may know anything else. In our innermost soul there
is an empty cave, image of the nothingness of man; she reminds
us that we are ‘utter falsehood’, and so creators ‘of what is not’;
but by the side of this negation of being is the positive manifesta¬
tion of truth: ‘supreme, eternal, and primal truth’, which is a
peaceful sea, from whose depths are born all those things that are.
Even sin? Sin (here she is Augustinian) is not-being, and therefore
belongs to our nothingness; it is the ‘utter falsehood’ already
spoken of; therefore it is we who generate sin, and are alone
responsible for it. But if we are nothing in ourselves, our being, in
so far as we have any being, comes from an Other—and who is
tliis Other but God? ‘We know that we do not exist of ourselves;
since we do not exist, we see that our being is from God.’ The
discovery that our being comes from God implies a close relation
between ourselves and God; in other words, the Creation. In
fact, God created us by an act of love towards Himself and towards
us: God ‘contemplated Himself, and was filled with such measure-

112

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

less love that out of this love He created us’. God's falling in love
with us in Himself was the creative impulse, and this love for us
has lasted, lasts, and will last for ever. But, because of the freedom
granted to us from our creation, with Adam came imperfection.
God’s desire that the creature should love his Creator as the
Creator loved His creature was not fulfilled. ‘The first man fell
from the height of grace through self-love.’ The fall meant
degradation, loss of human dignity, slavery.

But God’s love for what He had created, as a concrete reality
outside Himself, did not cease, and He determined to win men
once more to Himself; hence the source of salvation for mankind:
the appearance of the Saviour. ‘God was constrained by the flame
of divine charity to send the sweet incarnate Word of His own
Son, to redeem Man and draw him out of his slavery’: an act of
love that lifts us above ourselves, and gives us understanding of
ourselves, so that we become afire with love, and one with
Christ, sharers in His divinity. ‘Love, sweet love, refresh our
memory to receive and remember God’s goodness to us, and to
understand it; for when we understand we love, and when we
love we find ourselves united and transformed in the love of the
source of all love, passing even through the gate of Christ Cruci¬
fied.’

We learn all this through self-knowledge; should we not
therefore remain always in the cell of our own soul? This cell
may be thought of also as a deep well, for it contains water and
earth: earth because we acquire the knowledge of our own
worthlessness, water because we drink deeply of the will of God.
Let us then enter into die depths of this well, for it must be that
abiding therein we shall know ourselves and know the goodness
of God.

This conception has its practical consequences, for when sin
has, as far as that is possible, been eliminated from the world,
everything that remains will be good, perfect, and therefore
worthy to be loved—a vast field for our love which will never be
exhausted, because as ‘charity cannot be bound by law or measure’,
so the object of charity becomes a sharer in Him who is above all
laws, and perfect. But to reach this fullness of vision, which
before Adam fell was freely given, today we must lose and drown
ourselves in God: ‘ever gazing at the sweet eyes of His love’.

THE WINNER OF SOULS 113

Thus love creates love; every time we contemplate our Creator
we implore His love, and at the same time we rise above our own
nothingness; and when we lose ourselves in God, it is clear that
we wish to enter into, and become, love. Thus is made possible
the progressive conquest of perfection, and the intimate under¬
standing of ourselves, of our fellows, of God. ‘I tell you that if a
man does not arise, and open his eyes to gaze at the measureless
goodness and love of God, which He shows to His creature, his
soul will never reach any breadth or perfection, but will be so
narrow that he will be incapable of understanding either himself
or his fellows.’

This is a great achievement of love, but not the greatest of all;
we are now at St Bernard’s third degree of love—that is, we love
God for God’s sake. In fact we have surrendered ourselves so
completely as to deny all our natural qualities, however good and
vital; we consider ourselves as nought. When we have experi¬
enced some of God’s own attributes we have found them extra¬
ordinarily appealing, and then, contemplating God, we have felt
crushed by His boundless power and greatness—but it is only to
escape from our own wretchedness that we try to cross the border
of the Absolute. Thus we affirm God and deny man, but this is
still a manifestation of our weakness, and we have not yet reached
that love of the highest degree, which insists that we love our¬
selves for God’s sake. ‘Do not love yourselves for your own sake,
but yourselves for God’s sake.’ The nobility of man is, in this
way, fully re-established, because we now admit that God is at
work within us to make a temple of our soul.

As a matter of fact, Catherine does not distinguish very clearly
between the love of God for God’s sake and the love of others for
His sake; she affirms them both and confuses them. She is less
precise than St Bernard, and in her anxiety to draw a distinction
between worldly or selfish love and perfect love she overlooks
the distinction between St Bernard’s third and fourth degrees of
love. In fact, she gets very close to saying that to love God for
His own sake is the greatest love, not realising that to love God
for His own sake means loving Him for His power and greatness,
that is, for His gifts to us, while to love ourselves for God is
neither to desire any gift nor to glorify human nature, but to love
ourselves inasmuch as renewed and transformed by grace, we

114 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

share in His divinity, so that we love only what is of God, and act
only according to His will. But if Catherine did not closely
follow St Bernard’s teaching, she used it as a theme for her
meditations, and her aim was very similar to his because, for ier
also, real love is that which enables man to share in the divine
nature, so that his thought and action become attuned to God’s,
his weakness and perversity changed to energy and righteousness,
and his heart fortified so that he may become invincible.

Thus united to God, we become a living flame diat bums :or
ever, because we are united with the eternal fire and have become
fire ourselves. We understand why Catherine, remembering ier
experiences in ecstasy and her contacts with the divine, asserts:
‘When the soul is united and transformed in God, it forgets
itself and all other creatures’.

These are thoughts that Catherine does not reduce to a system,
but scatters here and there in her letters, without strict order or
any desire to theorise, but very frequently and with great fervour.
She loved theology, she wished to know its conceptions and
interpretations, but much of what she learnt was transformed into
living wisdom. Many of her thoughts have the beauty of :he
wild flowers we admire without asking whence they came or
why they bloom in this field of com or that meadow; thoughts
that, uttered in the enthusiasm and ardour of faith, acquire a
greater urgency than they had in the pages of St Augustine, St
\J Bernard, St Thomas Aquinas, Giordano da Pisa, Cavalca and
Passavanti, even when they come, shorn of their profundity,
directly from these Fathers. Her words still preserve the emotion
which she had felt during a divine embrace, and have che
colouring of a vision; the swift or gradual development of her
thought follows the growth of her own being. The very cont ra¬
dictions are the mark of mental conflicts that she has lived through
radier than resolved.

She passes swiftly from a clear explanation to a direct, urgent,
adoring appeal to Christ, and from incitement to action to :he
quotation of a passage of Holy Scripture which seems to have
little connection with it, from great excitement to the sudden
calm of meditation. All this makes her style lively, frank, attract¬
ive, even in her earliest letters: ‘O fire, O deep well of charity!
Thou art the fire that ever burns without consuming, full of joy

THE WINNER OF SOULS

115

and gladness and sweetness; the heart that is pierced by this dart
finds all bitterness sweet, and all burdens light. O sweet love, that
sustains and feeds our soul! I said that the fire burnt without con¬
suming, but now I say that it both burns and consumes, destroying
and dissolving every defect and ignorance and negligence in the
soul, for charity is never idle but accomplishes great things/

Let us fall under the warm spell of this prose, for only thus can
we understand it; it is an eloquence of the soul, beyond the words
themselves, that draws us into Cadicrinc’s spiritual world, just as
an image or a sound is enough to reveal to us a poet’s world. The
warmth and vehemence of this language show us to what mystic
heights Catherine had soared.

Her style is not always successful; sometimes her eloquence
stumbles and halts; then, checked by the words, we find neither
solace nor emotion. Like all writers, she has dull pages, and some
passages are involute, heavy, baroque, as happens when she
writes without reference to her own direct and radiant experience
but from hearsay and at second-hand. To be limpid, compact,
logical, vivid, she needs to draw inspiration directly from her own
fountain of life, that is, her own mystical experiences; then there
is complete correspondence between her soul and its expression,
or rather, her style is but the brilliant mirror of her soul.

These first letters of Catherine’s, besides showing us the image
of her spiritual world, give proof of her understanding of weak
human nature, her delicacy of feeling, and constant loving care
for her disciples. At times she rebukes severely and resolutely, at
other times speaks caressingly, encourages like a friend or com¬
mands like a Superior, ever ready to forgive all, provided all will
follow die way of God, and willing to take the ills of odiers upon
herself if by so doing she can win a soul. Like a true apostle she
strengthens and guides. She writes with the enthusiasm of St
Paul, with the charity of Christ. Her aim is a lofty one, because
she believes in the union of all men of good will under the
spiritual protection of Christ, and the material protection of the
Papacy. She desires the triumph of peace and justice on earth.
There are glimpses of the diplomatic and political activity she is to
busy herself with later, and one begins to see the outlines of her
conception of a Church State, while her enthusiasm for the
Crusades is also clearly evident.

Il6 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

Already in 1368, as we have seen, she may have realised :he
necessity for the Crusades against the infidels, seeing King Pe ter
of Cyprus, or hearing the Dominicans speak of him, and this
necessity must have seemed more pressing when she heard of
Urban V’s Bull, and that of Gregory XI of the 1st of August,
1371, in which he appealed to the kings and princes of Europe, the
Emperor of the East, and the Knights of Rhodes, reminding
them of their duty to take part in the next Crusade as champi Dns
of Christ. Before July 1372 Catherine was an eager propagandist
for the ‘holy expedition’.

We learn this from the letter that Giovanni of the Cells wrote
to the nun Domitilla on July 1st, 1372, dissuading her from
‘going overseas’. He writes indignantly against pilgrimages to the
Holy Land and whoever encourages them. In his usual frank,
severe manner he says: ‘This desire (to go Crusading) is in the
outer rind of it prompted by pity, but in the core it is more ci uel
than any cruelty, the enemy of all honesty, the gate of perdition,
the wasting of all virtues, the loss of all innocence and purity’.
Nevertheless, he goes on to say, there are Religious who preach
the Crusades and exhort pilgrims to go to the Holy Land, ind
amongst these is Catherine, who is a holy woman. ‘Perhaps you
will answer me that the holy Catherine preaches the Crusade;
I shall answer you that if she exhorts you to go across the sea by
saying that you will find Christ there, I deny this, with all the
Saints who speak of it. hi the first place, Christ Himself says i hat
the Kingdom of God is within us.’ After various apposite quota¬
tions, Giovanni says that Palestine is not ‘the promised land', as
some believe, but ‘the accursed land’, since God, because of
Christ’s death, ‘cursed its people and its country’. And why go to
Jerusalem? What do you find there of Christ? The dead bedy.
What use is it to visit what is dead when the Christian may at iny
moment in the sacrament of the altar receive the living Chris t in
himself? Useless, therefore, to go on pilgrimage to the Holy Land;
but ‘if Cadierinc’s words have convinced you and urge you to go’,
he warns Domitilla, ‘since the dangers of the pilgrimage out¬
number the benefits to be received from it, and strong souls are
needed (not young women), then you must first acquire the
sanctity of Catherine, and then I myself will give you permission
to go. And if you believe in your holy Catherine more than in all

THE WINNER OF SOULS

117

the holy Doctors, go again to her and ask her how she has arrived
at such perfection; and you will clearly see that it was through
silence and prayer; because she kept silence for eight years, we are
told, and was always in her room, and prayed. You do this first
and when you have reached her perfection I will myself surely
give you leave to go overseas.’

This is the letter that, four years later, aroused the ire of some
disciples of Catherine’s, and especially of William of Fleete, so
that Giovanni of the Cells was obliged to write other explanatory,
almost apologetic letters; but to us now the letter is important,
because, besides showing us that even among the Religious there
was no longer any general enthusiasm for the Holy Land, it
proves that Catherine was already in 1372 conducting an assiduous
propaganda for the ‘holy expedition’. Perhaps she had heard of
St B rigid’s voyage to Palestine in 1372, which must have been
much talked of among the Religious, given the popularity of the
Nordic prophetess. In any case, through the Dominicans Catherine
must have heard of Pope Gregory’s Bulls of the 13th and 20th of
November, 1372, exhorting the faithful to take part in the Cru¬
sades. That she preached the Crusades, not only for their religious
significance but because she thought they were necessary politic¬
ally, we learn from a passage in one of her letters, probably
written in 1373, to Fra Bartolomeo Dominici, in which she
rejoices at the declaration of a new expedition: ‘I have received
great joy of this, because I think much good will come of it; I
mean the good news that Fra Raimondo sent me, that he heard
from Messer Nicola da Osmo, about the preparations for the
expedition. Rejoice and be glad, for our desires shall be accom¬
plished.’

The fame of Catherine’s sanctity spread rapidly and far; the
Visconti of Milan heard of her between 1373 and 1374, we do not
know in what way. Bcrnabd Visconti and his wife Regina della
Scala both sent messengers to her, but what they wanted of the
young Sienese Tertiary, or what were their aims, we do not know.
Judging from Catherine’s reply—a part of both her replies is
missing—we gather that Bernabo was out of favour with the
Church for having punished several priests, and had therefore
asked for her advice, and perhaps for her help, knowing her to be a
holy woman and much esteemed in the Church. Catherine

Il8 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

replied with great vehemence as if she wished to drag both
Bemabo and Regina before Christ bleeding for the salvation of
man, so that both of them, who had lived so far from Him,
might bathe in that sacred ever-flowing Blood.

Catherine knew Bemabo’s power, his ambitions, his vast
plans for domination; she knew he was cruel, had been (and
might become again at any moment) the enemy of the Church.
First of all she invited him to love, to love with an extraordinary
love, and to seek for domination not outside himself, but in his
innermost self. The overlordship of lands and States is but tem¬
porary, and always uncertain. ‘We may not call ourselves lords of
any dominion we have in this world/ Let us abandon this
ambition, therefore, and count ourselves to be mere dispensers of
earthly goods, and let us direct our greed for conquest towards that
city that no one can wrest from us—the citadel of our soul.
‘Oh, is there any greater glory than to possess a city where God
Himself, who is all our Good, reposes, where peace and quiet
and all consolation may be found? This citadel is so strong, and
governed so well, that neither devil nor any creature can rob us of
it, unless we ourselves consent/

The ruler of this city is neither proud nor servile, but humble
and free; ransomed by the Blood of Christ. Here below the
guardian of the Blood of Christ is the Church, and who repre¬
sents the Church if not the Pope, the Vicar of Christ? The Church
therefore, and consequently the Pope, are the true rulers of the
world; we must all be submissive to both. ‘He is foolish who
strays far from this Vicar, or opposes him, for he holds the keys
of the Blood of Christ Crucified/ And as Bemabo has more than
once humiliated and opposed the Papacy, Catherine insists: ‘I beg
of you, for the love of Christ Crucified, never again to go against
your Head’, and tells him he has no right to punish priests, even
guilty ones, because they are the ministers of God; no one may
touch them except the Pope and God. ‘I tell you this, and I beg
you, in the name of Christ Crucified, not to meddle with them
any more/

We do not know the effect of these warnings and counsels on
Bemabo Visconti; if he had expected to find in Catherine support
or encouragement for his own cause he must have felt disappointed.
Catherine was accustomed to the clarity, sincerity and straight-

THE WINNER OF SOULS 119

forwardness of the spiritual life, and could not muffle her thought
in a fog of words, use ambiguous phrases, or give elastic judg¬
ments that might be interpreted as encouraging everyone’s own
desire. A Christian had to stand by the Pope; whoever was
against the Pope was ‘a rotten member, cut off from the body of
Holy Church’. No compromise was possible; every one must make
his own choice and shoulder his own responsibility. Perhaps
Bernabo smiled at such simple absolutism, accustomed as he was
to considering everything from the political point of view, and he
may have judged Catherine to be an ingenuous girl, without any
understanding of the means necessary to build up and maintain a
strong and lasting dominion. But she was very logical. If he
wanted to win the Pope’s favour he must cease from all rebellion
against the Church and wash himself in the Blood of Christ; he
must have the same aims as the Church, and fight for her cause.
If he really wished to be a Christian and show his repentance for
having rebelled against the Church, what better way of showing
his good intentions than by taking up arms in the new Crusade?
‘But what vengeance shall we take for the time you have been
hostile ? I think a time comes when we shall be able to take sweet
and glorious vengeance, for, as you have exposed your body and
temporal substance to all kinds of peril and death, in warfare
against your Father, so now I invite you, in the name of Christ
Crucified, to make a real and perfect peace with your kindly
Father, Christ on earth, and to wage war against the infidels,
hazarding your body and substance in the service of Christ
Crucified. Make your preparations, for it behoves you to make
such sweet amends, for, as you have been against him, now you
will go to his help when the Holy Father raises aloft the banner of
the most holy Cross, as he has a very great longing and will to do.
I want you to be the chief leader, and to beg and urge the Holy
Father to make haste, for it is a great shame and disgrace for
Christian folk to leave what is theirs by right in the hands of the
wretched infidels.’

This request may have given Bernabo a little food for reflec¬
tion. It is said that even in 1363 the eloquence of Piero Tomasio
and Philippe de Mezieres had already convinced him of the
necessity of the Crusades, and had persuaded him to make his
peace with the Church; but the peace he had then desired, and

120 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

the promise he had made to be a faithful servant of the Church,
were chiefly a clever ruse to get rid of his dread enemy, Cardinal
Egidio Albomoz. He had persuaded Pope Urban V to replace
him with the Cardinal of Cluny, Androuin de la Roche, his own
friend who, he hoped, might help him in his vast plan of gathering
the whole of Northern Italy under his rule. But would a sincere
and complete submission to the Pope really be to his advantage?
He was, in Mirot’s words, ‘a first-class politician, despotic and
astute, presenting a strange mixture of tyranny and justice,
cruelty and kindness, never hampered by political scruples or
religious convictions’. How could he consent to an act of sub¬
mission that implied the destruction of all his political ideals ?

In 1373 he had been threatened with excommunication by
Gregory XI; on May 7th, the same year, his army had been
beaten at Montechiari by the Cardinal of Bourgcs, and later on
his ambassadors, sent expressly to Avignon to offer a peace that
had seemed to him honourable for the Papacy, had not only not
been received by Pope Gregory XI, but, as Cristoforo da
Piacenza avers, had been rudely dismissed. The Pope evidently
wanted to reduce him to powerlessness, and this he would not
agree to. Catherine appealed to him to submit to the Vicar of
Christ, but in reality such a submission amounted to forfeiting all
his power, giving up his dreams of greatness and becoming an
insignificant provincial noble. He had to refuse, even if his refusal
were to lead to difficult and painful struggles.

Moreover, what advantage could he expect from leading a
Crusade against the infidels? In the first place, although he was a
great noble of Northern Italy and, because of the excellent
geographical position of his territory, could be a powerful friend
or foe to the Crusades, yet compared with the kings and emperors
of Europe he was but a modest prince. And what European court
at that time appeared favourable to the Crusades? The Council of
Thebes of the 1st of October, 1373, had failed to establish a league
against the Turks. Bernabo Visconti was able shrewdly to fore¬
cast the failure of the Crusade desired by Catherine. He did not
follow up her invitation, and most probably had no other
political or spiritual correspondence with her.

If Catherine’s letter to Bernabo Visconti shows us that her
authority was esteemed by princes, the letter she sent to Fra

121

THE WINNER OF SOULS

Bartolomeo Dominici and Fra Tommaso di Antonio, who were
at Pisa (a letter that Dupre-Theseider dates March 26th, 1374),
proves that her fame had reached the Pope in Avignon, and that
in Rome prelates and Religious were interested in her. ‘And
therefore I tell you: the Pope sent here his vicar, who was the
spiritual director ot that Countess who died in Rome, and the
same who renounced the bishopric for the love of virtue. He was
sent to me by the Holy Father, to ask me to pray especially for
him and for Holy Church, and he sent me the holy Indulgence as a

sign/

This visit touched Catherine very deeply, and her enthusiasm
soared aloft. At last the Crusade was at hand; the Church
would rise again to the epic grandeur that was hers, and the honour
of God would be restored: ‘Rejoice and be glad, for the Holy
Father has begun to open his eyes to the honour of God and of
Holy Church’. There was therefore no time to be lost: action
must be prompt and energetic. Off to the Holy Land! The
sepulchre of Christ awaited liberation at the hands of all manly
Christians. What did danger matter? Hardships, suffering, death
must be endured. The honour of God was at stake. The valiant
must now sally forth, fight and conquer for their faith. Catherine
would have liked to give the example: ‘I have written a letter to
the Holy Father and sent it with the request that, for love of that
most sweet Blood, he may grant us leave to offer our bodies for
martyrdom’. She burned to do something great for the Christian
cause; the longing for action became all-powerful and thrust her
forward; men and women companions, friends, disciples—all
must accompany her overseas.

‘Pray to that supreme eternal Truth that, if it is for the best, He
may grant this mercy for us and to you; we will all go in a happy
band to give our life for Him.’ Her fervour and desire were
great, but not extravagant; she measured her longing, and found
time to reflect that perhaps her wish might not be pleasing to
God. ‘I am sure that, if it is for the best, He will grant us this.’
First of all come God’s designs for us; we must submit, even in the
things we most long for, to His will. Therefore she awaited with
patience the Pope’s reply, that perhaps never came; but she did
not let all her activity, present or future, depend on it. ‘I am sure
that, if it is for the best, He will grant it to us.’

J

122 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

Full of trust in God, she went on with her apostolate, striving
to make men righteous, and at peace with God, and endeavouring
to form around herself a group of valiant Christians who would
be ready to bear all hardships and sufferings for their religion.
She believed in peace on earth, and desired it; but she saw the
Mahomcdans as the obstacle to peace—an obstacle that must be
removed. Every Christian must take up a cross and a sword and go
overseas to destroy the infidel and thus win peace for himself and
his neighbour. Only by conquering the Saracen could peace and
security be established in the Christian world, which was God’s
world. The Crusade therefore was not only necessary to liberate
a land dear to every believer, but also to establish a state of
tranquillity and happiness for the faithful. It was a fight for the
triumph of the soul, and victory would mean freedom for the
salvation of souls.

Catherine’s activity, which grew more intense and more wide¬
spread every day, was displeasing to many, who considered her
propaganda for the Crusades to be dangerous. Was it right for a
woman to busy herself with problems of such gravity and conse¬
quence? Her freedom of manner with her disciples and friends
also came in for criticism. She had no womanly reserve. Her
sanctity was called in doubt, her visions and her mortifications
debated. She allowed her followers to kiss her hands and feet, as
did the great ones of the earth; was this right for a seeker after
holiness? And how could she presume to give advice to everyone,
and dare to take upon herself the sins of so many sinners? Who
ordered her to fast so long, and so strictly? Her fastings, indeed,
were the greatest cause of scandal. Raimondo da Capua says that
‘everyone had something to say against the holy Catherine’, and
enumerated the various grumblers: ‘Some said that no one is
greater than Our Lord, yet He ate and drank, and so did His
glorious Mother, and so did the Apostles, to whom Our Lord
said: “Eat and drink what is placed before you”, and who can be
equal or superior to these? Others said that all the Saints had
taught, by word and example, that one must not set oneself apart,
but follow in all things the common usage. Others whispered that
all excess was harmful, and therefore to be shunned by all who fear
God. Some, admitting Catherine’s good intentions, said that her
being different from everyone else was due to a trick of the devil;

THE WINNER OF SOULS I 23

and there were the worldly also, and the openly scornful, who
said that Catherine was deceiving everyone to win notoriety: it
was untrue that she fasted; she ate very abundantly, but in secret/

One can, however, understand these critics if one remembers
that Catherine’s almost complete abstention from food was
accompanied by a tireless activity. She was always in prayer, or in
ecstasy, preaching, walking, speaking, encouraging, consoling,
reading, dictating letters, and keeping in touch with her numerous
spiritual family. Those who see things only from the human
point of view, as most men do, cannot imagine how it is possible
to give out so much physical energy without renewing it with
abundant food. Is not eating the constant preoccupation of man¬
kind? Is not a great part of their work conditioned by the need to
procure more or less ‘copious quantities of food? This being so,
every exception is regarded with diffidence and scepticism. Few
realise that there are privileged beings endowed with exceptional
powers, and that divine action may so work on them that food
is no longer the essential element for life and action. Some of the
Saint’s accusers knew that many Saints had lived and laboured
fasting; but when they found themselves face to face with a
woman who had remained for days on end without touching food,
yet without showing any physical weakness, they failed to
understand her.

We have an echo of this disquiet about Catherine in a letter
that she wrote to a priest in Florence, a letter that, according to
Dupre-Theseider, was written in the winter of 1373-1374. ‘I
think you are very worried, hearing about my life’, observes
Catherine to her correspondent, and adds: ‘I am not surprised at
this—in fact, I understand you, because I even worry about
myself. You are afraid because I do not eat, and you think it is a
trick of the devil, and you give me to understand I rely too much
on myself. Undeceive yourself, because I place no trust in myself,
and rely entirely on God’s goodness. As for the devil, I am not so
ingenuous as you might think; I know his wiles, and so I turn to
the tree of the most holy Cross of Christ Crucified, on which I lean,
and I fasten myself to it; and I do not doubt that if I am fastened
there with Him, for love in all humility, the devils will have no
power over me—not because of my virtue but because of the
virtue of Christ Crucified. You beg me to pray to God that I

124 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

may eat; I have done so, and I do so now. I have continually
prayed to God, I pray to Him, and I shall pray to Him that he
may grant me this mercy that in this matter of eating I may live
like other creatures, if that is His will, as it is mine. Moreover, I
will tell you that God has allowed me to overcome the sin of
gluttony, but I am not very well pleased about this, because I
would have preferred to overcome it with my own strength and
for love; whereas the victory is entirely due to Him. If, however,
I can do nothing about this, why do you not pray for me? God
will not despise your orations. And if you have any good remedy
for my case, write to me of it, and provided that it be to the
honour of God, I will try it willingly. Meanwhile, I beg you to
judge less hastily of persons and events, and only when God
clearly asks you to do so.’

This letter is full of humility, confidence, irony, reproof,
subtlety. Catherine has no fear because she knows that she is in
union with God, and intent on following the will of Christ, who
acts through her. Those who fail to understand how God may use
our physical organs must be strangers to the life of the spirit. Why,
therefore, should we care about such complaints ? ‘Let those speak
who will. I am sorry for them, not for myself.’ This is still her
mind, and this is what she wrote, as we have already noted, on
another occasion in Florence, probably to the same person to
whom this letter is addressed.

The critics, the grumblers, the accusers left Catherine indifferent,
but many of those who listened were perturbed. In Siena and
beyond the Catcrinati multiplied, but so also did the anti-Caterinati.
For a Dominican Saint to be so much talked of did not please the
Franciscans—they were the Inquisitors of the city—and they
began to oppose her. Among the Dominicans many were
favourable to her, but not a few were hostile, and while some
continued to praise her ever more highly, others criticised her
openly. These various and contrasting judgments were soon
known in the highest Dominican sphere, as also at Avignon,
where everything was always suspect, for fear of old heresies, and
alarm at the appearance of new ones. Catherine’s activity was no
longer limited to Siena; she wrote letters to the powerful princes
of Italy, judging them, giving them advice; she was interested
in Papal policy and wrote directly to the Pope; she spoke and

THE WINNER OF SOULS 125

wrote in the name of Christianity and of the Church. Might not
all this be dangerous for ecclesiastical policy? It was time, too, to
examine and judge the accusations of a religious nature that were
made against her. It became necessary to take notice of her, to
examine her life and thought. Who could do this better than the
Dominicans, the strict guardians of orthodoxy, the supporters
of Papal policy? Father Taurisano believes that in the Provincial
Chapter of the Dominicans, held in Siena in 1372, the ‘case’ of
Catherine was discussed. This may well be, but we have no
document to prove it. We may suppose that the anti-Caterinati
did their best to have the Saint judged by the highest authority, and
perhaps they hoped also to limit or to frustrate her apostolate;
but we may also be sure that the Caterinati too were anxious to
have her life and work examined, sure as they were that she would
emerge triumphant from such a trial. Many of them had been
spectators of some miracles performed by her, and some of them
had themselves experienced the virgin’s healing power, or her
second sight, or the ‘doubling’ of her person, and had been close
to her when she was at prayer or in ecstasy. Some Dominicans
knew that the doctrine she professed was strictly Catholic,
having instructed her in it themselves. And no one could seriously
call in question her attachment to Christ, to the Church, to the
Pope, just as no one could deny her great virtues. A trial, con¬
ducted with sincere zeal, could only reveal her natural and super¬
natural qualities, and was therefore to be desired, especially as it
would be advantageous to the Dominican Order because, after its
conclusions, which would certainly be favourable to Catherine,
the Order would be able to make a freer and more generous use
of her intellectual and spiritual talents. All who knew her burning
love for Christ and the influence she had over men, and had heard
her impassioned words, or read her letters, could not fail to realise
the advantages that would accrue, through her apostolate, to the
Christian and Dominican cause.

Fawtier is inclined to believe that the trial was made necessary
by the very ardour with which Catherine preached the Crusades.
This also, no doubt, was one of the impelling reasons, but not the
only one, nor the principal. She had to be examined because many
good and many bad things were being said about her; because
her activity had now become far-flung; because it was necessary

126 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

to know about her faith, her virtues, her gifts; because she had the
power of arousing energies; because she drew souls to herself.

It was necessary to study her mind so as to know her intentions.
She fasted for weeks together, and it was not sure whether this was
God’s work or the devil’s. She must be examined to test her
sincerity and her spirituality. She must be examined because she
was endowed with great gifts—also to fmd out whether she
might be useful to the Papacy in propagating the Crusades.
St B rigid of Sweden had died in 13 73, and it was necessary that her
propaganda for the Church should be continued, and Catherine
might be her worthy successor. Finally, and most important of all,
she must be examined because when it is a question of sanctity
the Church must know whether there arc present those virtues in
their highest degree that are required for its recognition.

And the examination came: Catherine received from Fra
Elia of Toulouse, Master-General of the Dominicans, the order
to present herself in Florence before the General Chapter of the
Preaching Friars, during Pentecost of 1374, to ‘give an account of
herself’.

Chapter VI

HER DISCIPLES INCREASE

Catherine’s arrival in Florence passed unobserved. Some of her
biographers have indulged their imagination, describing her as
immersed in sad thoughts on the journey from Siena to Florence;
others say she was pursued and besieged by the faithful and the
curious. It has even been suggested that the Florentine country¬
side and the flowery fields of May through which she passed
induced a more serene sense of communion with God—as if
she had never had occasion to rejoice in Siena beneath enchanting
skies and amid fields in flower. These are but flights of fancy, for
we have not a single word from Catherine or her friends and
contemporaries to tell us of her thoughts on this journey. Judging
from what we know of her, we presume that on this occasion too
she showed confidence and serenity. Her chief desire was probably
to reach Florence as soon as possible, so as to open her heart to
the Dominican Fathers—among whom she had friends—and
with the help of Christ who dwelt within her, to show them the
sincerity of her faith and works. Had she not always spoken,
written and acted under the direction and with the approval of
Dominican theologians? She had nothing to fear, and welcomed
the investigation and trial.

We know very little about this trial, which attracted very little
notice. About five hundred Religious had arrived in Florence from
all the Dominican Provinces, to attend the General Chapter of the
Order, which opened on the day of Pentecost, May 21st, and was
presided over by Elia Raimondo of Toulouse, who had been
General of the Preaching Friars since 1367 and who ‘enjoyed in the
Order and in the Church a high reputation as a scholar and wise
administrator’. The Chapter was held in the Priory of Santa
Maria Novella, in the Guidalotti Chapel, now the Spanish Chapel.

127

128 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

It is uncertain whether Catherine was examined by the whole
General Chapter, or by a special section. Fawtier rightly points
out that her case was not of general interest, so it may well be
that Elia of Toulouse entrusted the examination and conduct of
the trial to those members who best knew Catherine, and so were
most fitted to judge her. According to Borghigiani, grave accusa¬
tions had been levelled against her: ‘there were not lacking at
that time evil livers who did their best to discredit St Catherine of
Siena’s holiness with malicious inventions, inspired by the envy
and hatred they bore to all God’s works; therefore this Saint was
called to the present Chapter to give an account of herself and of
her progress in the ways of God’. This is all very general, and
reads like an eighteenth-century echo of some pages of the
‘Leggenda Maggiorc’, neither more informative nor more exact
than this.

Borghigiani prepared his ‘Cronica Annahstica del vencrabile
Convento di Santa Maria Novella di Firenze’ during the second
half of the eighteenth century, and made great use of Biliotti’s
account, and of several other MSS and printed works—and for all
that concerns Catherine he must have set great store by the
‘Leggenda’ of Raimondo da Capua, although he ‘had not been
able to see the original parchment sources’. His ‘Cronica’ is there¬
fore useful and important, but neither complete nor precise. He
himself tells us that it was composed ‘in odd scraps of time left
over from the various occupations of a Religious’, and ‘written
with difficulty and with ageing sight’. This admission is no doubt
partly due to a sentiment of humility proper to a Religious, and
we believe him when he says that he ‘spared no diligence, even
at the cost of great labour, to establish as far as possible the
correct and true scries of chronological events, and the legitimate
succession of Priors. . .’. Nevertheless, the ‘Cronica’ is neither
exhaustive nor very exact, and concerning Catherine’s trial in
1374 reveals nothing to satisfy our curiosity. Perhaps Fra
Domenico Sandrini, who in 1731 wrote the ‘Vite dei Frati di
Santa Maria Novella, celebri in santita’, is telling the simple
truth when he says that ‘Catherine was called to Florence to give
an account of herself’—a phrase that Borghigiani repeats in his
‘Cronica’—‘as the Order wished to be well informed and certain
about her spiritual life, because of the many stories of miracles

HER DISCIPLES INCREASE 129

performed by her’. We may also believe Fra Sandrini when in
his ‘Breve Notizia di quindici sante e buone domic dell’ abito
della Penitenza di San Domenico', written in 1720, he asserts
that Catherine’s case was subjected to a very long examination.
No one tells us what interrogations Catherine had to undergo, or
how she replied, or defended herself; we do know, however, that
one of the most important personages present at her trial was
favourable to her. This was the Dominican Angelo degli Adimari,
whom we have already noticed in Siena in 1352.

Adimari was a learned scholar of exemplary life, much esteemed
in the Order. Inclined towards mysticism himself, his soul ‘had
much affinity with the Saint’s’. During the years he spent in
Siena ‘he had been a witness of all that had happened to the Saint
before she entered the Third Order’, and in that time, as also
later on when he was in other friaries, he reflected much on her
experiences, and from what he had himself observed, and from
what other Dominicans reported to him, he had formed a favour¬
able conception of the spiritual life of the Saint now under
examination.

It is more than probable that he sought her out as soon as she
came to Florence—spoke to her, and questioned her, and in this
way, investigating her intentions and ideas informally, made up
his mind about her. She certainly spoke to him with her usual
characteristic frankness and ingenuousness, holding nothing back.
Thus Adimari may have been able to observe her spiritual
growth, her undoubted fidelity to the Church, and her self¬
dedication in Christ’s cause. He may have himself experienced the
burning heat of her charity, and the charm of that enchanting
smile that never left her, even amidst atrocious moral and physical
suffering. He must certainly have felt an increased admiration for
his penitent of former years; and when he enquired into her life
and thought he could find nothing there that was dangerous to ^
the Order or to the Faith, nothing but the strictest orthodoxy and
true holiness. The answers he received to his questions may have
echoed explanations he himself had given her, or had repeated in
his own sermons in Siena. There was no doubt that, spiritually,
she was a creature of the Dominicans, and must therefore be
defended at all costs. No one in the Chapter knew her better than
he did, or could better judge her. Therefore he was the first to

130 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

give the necessary information, and was at once believed, for
‘there was no one else who could give so clear and impartial an
account’.

The Order seems to have been satisfied with Adimari’s defence
of Catherine. After all, it was only necessary to know what sort
of spirit animated her, and when it was ascertained that she was
strictly orthodox, faithful to the Church and full of love for God
and His creatures, what else could be desired? In the world her
actions might still be criticised, and she herself slandered, but what
did that matter once a philosopher and theologian of die Order,
such as Adimari, denied the accusations and reassured the Order
about her holiness and orthodoxy? If her enemies still wished to
discredit her they were free to do so—but the Dominicans would
now take up the defence of their Tertiary.

Fawticr’s supposition that Catherine’s innocence was not
completely recognised by the Chapter seems absurd; if such had
been the case the Dominicans would have ordered her to desist
from all activity, and to remain in seclusion at home, meddling
no longer in Church affairs; and if even the slightest suspicion had
still remained, they would have asked her to withdraw for a
time into a spiritual retreat. Generally speaking, the decisions of
religious Orders are prompted by great, or even exaggerated,
prudence, and the Dominicans, given their pre-eminent position
in the Church, could not afford to take risks. The result
of the trial suggests that Catherine’s gifts were clearly set in
* evidence, and that her judges realised the importance, present and
future, of her apostolic ardour, and of her eloquence in speech
and writing. Realising also how useful her work would be to the
Dominican Order and to the whole Church, they gave her as a
spiritual director a friar who enjoyed great esteem in the Order
and who, besides being deeply versed in mysticism, was cultured,
sympathetic, and also a man of political acumen: Raimondo da
Capua. Fawtier rightly points out that ‘the appearance of Raimon¬
do da Capua as her spiritual director marks a change in St Cath¬
erine’s life’, and that her activity, under his direction, became more
important, because she began to take part in the political events
of the age. All this came about because the Dominican Chapter of
Florence had understood her genius, her eloquence, humility and
spirit of self-sacrifice, and admired her wise judgments on men

HER DISCIPLES INCREASE 131

and events, and the enthusiasm which inspired her to preach a
reign of peace and love on earth.

Catherine stayed on in Florence for some weeks after the end
of the Chapter, while her fame, increased by its decisions, spread
abroad through the city, and everyone wanted to sec her, speak
to her, invite her home, beg for her prayers, her help, her advice,
and find out how she lived, taking the measure, with due rever¬
ence, of her spiritual power. ‘Hearing of her fame I desired to
know her and have her friendship. Several times she came to my
home, and when I understood about her life I wanted to know all
about her’, says the anonymous author of the ‘Miracoli’, who
tells us that she had dear friends with whom she stayed in Florence.
If we think of her immersed as always in her apostolic work we
can hardly believe that she also ‘wanted to know what was
happening at the Palazzo Vecchio, who were the men most
prominent in political life, what was planned and plotted in those
secret haunts, and the why and wherefore of the widespread
discontent manifest to all’. To believe this is to distort the figure of
the Saint, and make of her a sort of political agitator running here
and there to find out about the aims and plans of the Florentine
Government, about secret plots, quarrels among the rulers, and
the hatching of revolts. She is described as setting herself at the
head of a group of Florentines, who were pursuing political
aims under the guise of religious activity. ‘In a month Catherine
found herself the leader of a numerous and distinguished spiritual
family—not only of noble ladies, but of men also—many of
whom were in the government, or were leaders of the Guelph
party, such as Soderini, Canigiani, Bonaccorso di Lapo, Gian-
nozzo Sacchettf and others. This picture of her, drawn by Padre
Taurisano, seems very fanciful. It is quite possible that Catherine
met Soderini and other political figures at this time, as she met
the Bishop of Florence, Angelo Ricasoli, but if she did she
probably spoke to them of the salvation of their souls, and of
their need to bathe in the Blood of Christ—not of political
matters. She may have heard talk of the most urgent problems
that faced the Republic—but in the course of conversations not
deliberately sought for that purpose. She was a mystic, not a
woman with a bent for politics, and she busied herself with the
kingdom of Christ and no other; the only cause in this world

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

132

that had power to move her was that of the Crusades—certainly
not that of the internal affairs of Florence.

However, Padre Taurisano, in his generous zeal, would like to
endow Catherine with all possible gifts, including political
ability; and so he presents us with a Catherine who, in May and
June of 1374, in Florence, reveals most powerful political talents
and a great curiosity about the internal and foreign policy of the
Republic. According to him she was a genius, and therefore
possessed prophetic foresight; and, knowing that two years later
she would return to Florence charged with a political mission, she
wanted to make a thorough preliminary study of the administra¬
tive, political and diplomatic machinery of the Florentine
Republic to avail herself of this knowledge later on.

All this is purely imaginary, and has the opposite effect of what
Taurisano intended, diminishing her figure rather than adding to
its glory. Her life was bound up with Christ, and Florence, like
everywhere else, was for her but a spiritual training ground, her
one aim, here as elsewhere, being to persuade men to care about
their own salvation. The only Government that interested her
was the Papal government, and that only because the Pope
represented Christ on earth. When her religious and apostolic
mission was concluded, ‘St Catherine left Florence on St Peter’s
day of the year 1374, and went back to Siena, where there was a
great mortality because of the plague’.

Between May and October 1374 the pestilence raged in Siena,
not so destructive as in 1348, but still full of terrors; everywhere
were signs of desolation and death. As soon as she got back to her
city Catherine set about visiting, tending and comforting the
stricken, and, when necessary, composing the bodies of the dead
and burying them. In the city where she was known as a miracle-
worker it is easy to imagine how much she was in demand to
help the sick, especially the poorest of these, neglected by the
doctors and by the more timorous of the clergy. Cadierine went
ceaselessly from house to house, from one hospital to another,
bearing comfort and faith to all, and to some healing and life.
She was always serene: ‘I often saw the virgin visiting the plague-
stricken, cheerful as ever’, says Tommaso da Siena, and this
serenity must have been a great consolation to the sick, who were
very often forsaken even by their nearest kin. Catherine, nurse and

HER DISCIPLES INCREASE 133

priestess, was hailed with blessings wherever she went, and invoked
as Saints are invoked. At her coming the eyes of the wretched
sufferers filled with hope. She did not spare herself in her labours
for the physical and spiritual health of those poor folk. When,
the body being past saving, she succeeded in saving the soul, she
rejoiced at having saved the immortal part. No one knows how
many cures she worked; we hear she saved the Rector of the
Hospital of Mercy, Messer Matteo Ccnni, one of her admirers,
and the hermit Fra Santi da Tcramo, a friend of Petroni and
Colombini and later on her own disciple, and Fra Raimondo da
Capua and Fra Bartolomeo Dominici. A careful analysis of the
witnesses of all her cures might induce some doubt as to the
gravity of the disease from which some of them suffered; but that
does not lessen the value of Catherine’s apostolic work; we know
that she placed her hands on the head or brow of the sufferer and
besought the help of God; whether it was her own faith, or the
faith the sick had in her, or some powerful influence that she
imparted, or the direct action of God—who can can tell? In any
case, the cures were real.

The plague proved especially fatal to little children, among
them some of Catherine’s own family, six children of her brother
Bartolomeo and one daughter of her brother Benincasa. Cath¬
erine was not perturbed about these innocents: their little souls
would take wings and fly to God. Rejoicing over her children
that had died, she composed their lifeless limbs and buried them
with her own hands, repeating over each one: ‘This little one I
shall never lose’.

During these months of plague Catherine gave herself no rest
and lived only to bring spiritual and material aid to those infected
with the dread disease. She ceaselessly exhorted her fellow Ter-
tiaries, disciples and friends to do likewise. Few, at least among the
Dominicans, followed her: only Fra Tommaso della Fontc, Fra
Bartolomeo Dominici, Fra Raimondo da Capua, and Fra Simone
da Cortona. Fra Simone tells us that ‘the younger friars refused
to accompany die priests who were visiting the sick, because of
the fear of infection; but I went willingly, led by my affection for
my beloved Mother, for they took me to her after I had visited
die sick, as if to reward me for my labour; a reward that, because
of my love for her, seemed to me magnificent’. This confession

134 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

shows the attraction that Catherine wielded over some souls, but
makes it clear that the younger friars were far from understanding
their duty as Christians, and corroborates what we read in the
‘Leggcnda Minore’, diat ‘many of the Religious had left the city
for fear of mortality’. Even Fra Raimondo da Capua himself
might not have braved the danger of death for love of his fellows
if Catherine had not been there to spur him on. It was ‘through
her exhortations’ that he became ‘very anxious and busy about
the spiritual health of those who fell ill and died so quickly’, says
Tommaso da Siena hi the ‘Leggenda Minore’; but we can sec in
the very remarks that Raimondo himself makes in the ‘Leggenda
Maggiore’, about the plague and his own duty as a priest, that the
maiden’s words and actions influenced him deeply. ‘I reflected
that Christ can do much more than Galen, and grace more than
nature; seeing, moreover, that many fled, and that the souls of the
dying were therefore bereft of counsel and help, through that
charity which teaches me to love the souls of my fellows more
than my own body, and also because the maiden persuaded me to
do so, I firmly resolved to visit, console, and instruct as many as
I could.’ As Catherine’s exhortations were the mainspring of his
activity, and of that of his brethren, during the plague, he might
with more frankness have attributed the chief responsibility to her
—but self-love has a way of re-appearing even when we think we
have plucked it out.

Raimondo da Capua was, from 1374 onwards, the most
important figure in Catherine’s ‘Family’. He co-operated faith¬
fully with her for several years, as her friend encouraging her to
enter a wider sphere of political activity, and as her disciple
receiving from her precious instructions for his spiritual progress.
He acquired a profound knowledge of her, for she revealed her
whole soul to him, and later on he was to write her ‘official’ life,
from which all other biographers, even those who affect to
despise his sincerity, have drawn their material. Descending from
the great family delle Vigne, famous for its lawyers, and especially
for Pier delle Vigne, who had held

\ . . Ambo lc chiavi
Del cor di Federico’,f
(Both the keys of Frederick’s heart)

f Pier delle Vigne, of Capua, was Chancellor to the Emperor Frederick II.

HER DISCIPLES INCREASE

135

he was born at Capua, we believe about 1330. He studied Canon
Law at Bologna, where in the first half of the fourteenth century,
there were learned Canonists such as Giovanni di Andrea, the
friend of Petrarch and of Gino da Pistoia, and Giovanni, the son
of Rolandino dei Calderini. It was in Bologna that he joined the
Dominican Order, and he stayed there for several years to com¬
plete his theological studies, hi 1363 we find him the confessor and
spiritual director of the Dominican Nuns of Montepulciano, and
here he began to write the Legend of St Agnes de’ Segni, showing
his own leaning towards hagiography, and a clear understanding
of mysticism and sanctity, even if it was not based on first-hand
knowledge. By April 20th, 1366, the Legend was finished. The
next year he was nominated Prior of Santa Maria sopra Minerva
in Rome, and when Urban V arrived in the Holy City he went
to pay homage to him—at least so Cormier, though without
documentary proof, informs us. A few months later he gave up
his position as Prior, preferring to dedicate himself to teaching and
preaching. On August 30th, 1373, he was in Florence, and
may have been there during the General Chapter held in May
1374. He had certainly heard of Catherine, and had probably
met her. He may have heard of her while he was at Montepul¬
ciano, for he writes: ‘While I was there (at Montepulciano) ... I
was always glad to welcome the friars who came to see me from
neighbouring Priories, and especially those already known to me.
One day there came to see me, from Siena, Fra Tommaso, the
virgin’s confessor, and Fra Giorgio Naddi, now a teacher of
theology, for mutual solace in spiritual conversation.’

It is not necessary to continue with his account of the miracle
that befell the two friars on their way back to Siena, when they were
seized by brigands and threatened with death, which they
escaped only by Fra Tommaso invoking Catherine’s help. What
matters more is his report that the three friars were talking about
spiritual matters which gave them such consolation. We are
naturally led to suppose that Tommaso della Fonte, a man of no
great learning or spiritual depth, and certainly with no mystical
experiences of his own to relate, may have been talking about the
extraordinary things that were happening to Catherine, which he
learnt about from day to day, and which filled him with wonder
and sometimes with disquiet. There was no one better fitted than

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

136

Fra Raimondo to advise him in his spiritual direction of this holy
woman, for he had made a special study of the life of the popular
Saint of Montepulciano, and had had great experience as a
spiritual director of nuns. He was the right person to give an
opinion on Catherine’s visions, her second sight, her extraordinary
fastings, and her union with God. One may presume, therefore,
that Catherine was the subject of their talks, and that in this way
Fra Raimondo heard about her mystical experiences. And Cather¬
ine had certainly heard of Raimondo da Capua even if she did not
know him personally—as we see from the letter, already quoted,
that she wrote during Lent of 1372 or 1373 to Fra Bartolomeo
Dominici, while he was preaching in Asciano, in which, speaking
of the ‘holy expedition overseas’, she wrote: ‘and of the good
news that Fra Raimondo sent me’. The text here is obscure. It
may be ‘sent me’ or ‘sent you’, but in either case proves that
Fra Raimondo was known to her, directly or indirectly.

In 1374 the General of the Preaching Friars nominated Fra
Raimondo as Reader of Sacred Scripture at Siena, and Director
of Dominican Studies, with the special charge of supervising
Catherine and her fellow Tertiaries, and directing their activity
for the greater glory of the Order and Christendom. We have no
document to tell us of the first meeting between Catherine and
Fra Raimondo, but we know, thanks to Padre Taurisano’s
researches, that the new Dominican Reader was in Siena on
August 1st, 1374, that is, during the worst of the plague and famine,
when Catherine was sparing no effort to aid the sick and suffering.
On his arrival he must have found her absorbed in her care for
others. His description of this epidemic in Siena shows signs of
his own uncertainty, hesitation and fear. He had never before
come into direct contact with so virulent a plague; his life until
then, as a teacher and preacher, had been tranquil, and under his
own control. Now all at once, he found himself surrounded by
pain, despair and death, and naturally it was not easy for him to
take a decisive step. Every day he saw this young woman, whom
it was his duty to supervise and direct, careless of her own danger,
living in the midst of the stricken multitude, entirely dedicated to
her self-imposed task of healing their bodies, when possible, and
zealously saving their souls; moreover, those of his own fellow
friars who were most faithful to Catherine, Fra Tommaso della

HER DISCIPLES INCREASE 137

Fonte and Fra Bartolomeo Dominici, were accompanying and
helping her. What could he do? What ought he to do? Although
but lately arrived in the city, his own mission was delicate and of
great importance; could he stay apart in a friary, like other
Dominicans? Would it be right to put himself and his own safety
first? Cadierinc’s example and words exhorted him to busy him¬
self in the service of others. She was wont to say that he who had
Christian charity—and she wrote this the following year to Fra
Bartolomeo Dominici—lacked for nothing because he had ‘a
fiery robe to protect him from the cold, food lest he perish of
hunger, and a bed for his fatigue’. Moreover, Fra Raimondo
belonged to an active Order, and his inertia at such a moment
might bring shame upon it. But to visit the sick meant he might
die at any moment, and this threat, which he had never had to
think about before and now overhung him at every turn, left
him by no means indifferent. Finally, his sense of duty and, above
all, Catherine’s own example, roused him and decided him to
visit the sick wherever and however they were. ‘I was obliged to
risk my life to minister to the souls of my fellows’, he tells us, and
this ‘obliged’ is very revealing. When he wrote this he was an old
man, but as he recalls this chapter of his life, he seems to have
before his mind those hours of fear that he had had to live through,
and to feel again, very vividly, the effort he had made to conquer
his own timid and hesitating nature. Once resolved, he went
about day and night seeking out and comforting the sick, as was
nis duty, but since he possessed neither Catherine’s energy nor her
enthusiasm (he was physically also somewhat delicate) he often
vent in search of rest and calm to the hospital of Santa Maria
ella Misericordia. In any case, this apostolate shared with
therine increased his admiration for her, and he became her
devoted disciple when he saw her, in the name of God, heal some
of his own friends. He himself, feeling one night the symptoms of
the plague in his own body, ran at once to Catherine, to ask her
to heal him, which she did at once.

When he first came to Siena he had felt a slight scepticism with
regard to her. ‘I want you to know, beloved reader, that at the
beginning, when I heard her praised and had begun to know her,
I was rather incredulous. ... I tried in every way and by every
means to find out whether her actions were inspired by God,
K

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

138

whether they were true or feigned, because I reflected that we
were in the era of the third beast clothed with the leopard skin,
by which is meant hypocrisy, and that in my time I had found
some of these beasts, especially among women, who are so
cunning, and are more easily seduced by the fiend, as happened to
our first mother.’ This scepticism was natural, but cannot have
lasted long. Cormier tells us that as soon as Fra Raimondo under¬
took the spiritual direction of Catherine he ‘exercised a constant
watchfulness over her whole life’—which was only right—but
also, ‘a strict censorship of her slightest imperfections, a habitual
and deliberate scorn of her visions and revelations, while taking
continual pains to mortify and humiliate her’—this was for a long
time the policy of this enlightened and prudent director. If this is
so, and we may infer it from the assertions of Fra Raimondo
himself, it is difficult to see how he found the time to do all this—
or do anything more than watch her carefully, conscientiously
and assiduously. Catherine left Florence on June 29th, 1374,
and arrived in Siena at the beginning of July, at the height of the
plague; she must have begun at once her day-and-night care of the
- sick. We have documentary evidence that Fra Raimondo was in
Siena on August 1st, so he may have arrived in July and had some
conversations with Catherine immediately, but short ones, so as
not to hinder her apostolate, so much needed in those days. He
may have been a little uncertain about her in those first days, and
sceptical about her supernatural life, and he may even have
considered her care of the sick as a routine work of mercy, sucb
as every Tertiary of the Dominican Order was bound to under¬
take. But this state of mind cannot have lasted long, because th
words he used when asking her to cure Matteo Cenni of tl*
plague were full of admiration and trust: ‘Mother, will you allc
this man, who is so dear and precious to us, to die now?’
when Catherine replied: ‘Am I God, to save mortals from deathr.p
Fra Raimondo retorted: ‘You may say that sort of thing to others^
but not to me, for I know your secrets, and I know that God^
grants you all you ask of Him’. There is no diffidence or scepticism ^
here, nor was there when, shortly afterwards, as has already been :
mentioned, finding himself infected with the plague, he showed
complete confidence in the Saint’s miraculous healing power.
L These two cures may be ascribed to August and September,

HER DISCIPLES INCREASE 139

since in October the plague had almost died out in Siena; so it is
difficult to see when Fra Raimondo can have had the opportunity
to show ‘for a long time’ the disapproval, scorn and scepticism of
which Pere Cormier speaks. Moreover, Fra Raimondo boasts
of having understood Catherine at once, unlike her other direc¬
tors, and therefore had sanctioned her long fastings and frequent
Communions, and had not questioned her visions and ecstasies.

It is wisest to conclude that the first conversations between the
two were probably marked by a certain coldness and curiosity
on his part, and perhaps by some incredulity, until he had had
occasion to know the extent of her good works (and he must have
seen this during the plague) and her absolute faith; this period
may have coincided with his own uncertainty as to whether or
not he should dedicate himself to the care of the sick; but very
soon he was won over by the spiritual strength that emanated
from her, and from then on, observing her at work, became her
ever more devoted disciple. However carefully he watched over
her he could discover nothing heterodox, and had to admit that
she was possessed by a superior strength which came from
God.

This interpretation is in harmony with the spirit of the ‘Leggenda
Maggiore’, which is one long confession of faith in Catherine. It
was perhaps Fra Raimondo’s rapid and intelligent understanding
of Catherine’s spirituality that led to their firm and profound
friendship, strengthened by constant mutual admiration. Fra
Raimondo instinctively recognised in Catherine the woman of
lofty intellect, the great saint and tireless apostle; Catherine
dmired his intelligence, tact, breadth of understanding, and
raining after perfection. She knew he was rather timid and
uesitant, and fond of a quiet life, and she was always mindful of
him in her prayers, never failing, when need arose, to exhort
him to act bravely and with courage. He had clear and decided
views about the Crusades and about Papal politics, and although
his political gifts were not brilliant, he had a sure political instinct
about all that concerned the Order and the Church. Urban VI,
on becoming Pope, called him his own ‘head, eyes, mouth,
tongue, hands and feet’, which shows that his activity within the
Church was considerable. Moreover, the intimacy he enjoyed
with several personages of the Court at Avignon is a sign of the

140 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

esteem in which he was held in Papal circles, and of the weight

attached to his words.

Without doubt Catherine admired his political wisdom, and it
is logical to conclude that in this field she followed the instruction
and advice he gave her. In fact, he opened out to her new horizons
and new possibilities of action, for her intelligence was always
ready to seize upon vast plans to promote the triumph of Chris¬
tianity. He supported the Crusades, shared the wish of the Curia
that the Captains of the Mercenary Companies should leave
Europe in peace and go and fight for Christ against the Mussul¬
mans, prayed for the reform of the Church, and maintained that
the true seat of the Papacy was Rome and not Avignon. These
were all conceptions and needs that she herself had seen, howbeit
more dimly, and that conversation with her spiritual director,-
who was also her friend and disciple, served to clarify and
strengthen. Thus Catherine and Fra Raimondo were both
working for the same ends, and aided each other with a mutual
exchange of ideas, energies and counsels. Fra Raimondo’s ideas,
passing through Catherine’s mind, acquired strength and in¬
spired her to action on a great scale.

★ ★ ★

Neri di Landoccio de’ Pagliaresi, whose life the Saint trans¬
formed, was a devoted disciple and did much to spread her
fame. He used to insist upon his friends visiting her, so sure was
he that, when they heard her moving words and felt the power o^
her spirit, they would become ardent Christians. His heart w?
very sensitive, and he suffered from the separation his conversk
had caused between himself and his friends. He was anxious ~ n
re-establish his former intimacy with them, provided this coiijjs
be done through all sharing in that love of Christ that his ‘littlt?
Mother’ aroused in all hearts. After much insistence he succeeded
in leading to Catherine’s cell his friend Francesco Malavolti, a
rich young Sienese, proud, capricious and sensual, who loved
gay society and, still more, women, dancing and gambling. This
elegant and carefree provincial noble went from one amusement
to another, as did many young men of the ‘spendthrift brigade’
of that day, luxurious, refined and pleasure-loving. He was fond

HER DISCIPLES INCREASE

141

of Ncri, and admired his delicacy of feeling and his straightfor¬
ward character, but was rather irritated by his friend’s repeated
invitations to go and visit Catherine. Why should he go to see
her? He was quite content with his Siena,

‘Di leggiadria, di bei costumi piena,

Di vaghe donne, d’uomini cortesi’,

(Full of graciousness and beautiful manners, of beautiful women
and courtly men)

and did not want to be the object of gloomy preaching, or be
shown his sins and the necessity of conversion.

It was well known that the Dominican Tertiary talked in this
way to her visitors, and he had no mind to listen to it. But Neri
di Landoccio had no intention of letting him go, and gave him no
peace. At long last Francesco Malavolti consented to visit the
Mantellata, he says, out of courtesy to his friend, but probably
with a certain curiosity also to see close at hand this woman who
was so much extolled, and whom he would willingly have
deceived. He went resolved to ward off any rebuke Catherine
might utter on account of his dissolute life, and was determined
to give her a sharp reply if she asked him to go to confession. It
happened, however, that as soon as he entered her cell and saw
her face he felt a strange sensation; he himself tells us, ‘such terrible
awe took hold of me, and such violent trembling that I nearly
fainted. God changed my heart in such a wonderful way that,
resolved as I had been never to confess my sins, after her first
words I went at once to a confessor, and from that day forth
something new came to pass in me, so that I was no longer my
former self.’ This is an avowal that proves how great was Cath¬
erine’s power over souls, and how well she knew how to bind
people to her. Francesco often went back to see her, and she,
lovingly and delicately, was able to touch the secret chords of his
nature, and to hold him bound with silken threads. He was good-
natured and generous, ready to make heroic resolves, which he
found difficult to carry out, because the habitual indulgence of
his senses drew him back again and again to his love-making and
gambling. But women, amusements, and gambling no longer
satisfied him as before, and pleasure had always some taste of
bitterness and pain, and so, as soon as disillusionment cast a gloom
over him, Francesco would return to Catherine who, always full

142 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

of understanding for human weakness, welcomed him, advised
and encouraged him and gave him her prayers. She well knew his
fickleness of heart and grieved over it; one day, in fact—some
years after he had first begun to follow her—she wrote to him:
‘You cost me so many tears, so much sweat and bitterness’. Yet
she loved him and thought him worthy to belong to her Family,
calling him her ‘darling’ because she knew he had a kind and
generous heart. She believed in his final salvation. ‘You often
come to me’, she said to him once, ‘and then, like a restless bird,
off you fly again to your various vices; fly where you will, now,
but in the end, with the Lord’s help, I will catch you in a noose
so that you will flutter your wings no more.’ One day, in fact,
he ceased to flutter—somewhat late in life, to be sure. In 1388 he
joined the Olivctan Order, and became a good monk; the noose
had been well flung and held firm.

About tills time Catherine’s Family received other young
converts. Neri di Guccio degli Ugurgeri and Niccolo di
Bindo Ghelli, friends of Francesco Malavolti, had taken to
mocking him because he had been caught in Catherine’s net, and
assured him that, in his place, diey would have turned the tables
against her. He took them at their word and invited them to go
with him to see her. They agreed to go, resolved to resist any of
her coaxing words, and ready to ill-treat her if she tried to
convert them; but when they came before her and Catherine
told them what she thought of them sternly and vigorously,
they were dumbfounded, and declared themselves ready to do
all she desired.

Out of all these faithful and enthusiastic folk who had gathered
round her, some of diem followed her so closely as to form a real
‘Family’ that acknowledged her as Mother. Besides those we have
already mentioned we find Luigi di Luigi Gallerani, to whom she
wrote an affectionate and encouraging letter, Nigi di Doccio
degli Arzocchi, who met her through the Pagliaresi, to whom she
wrote in 1380 expressing her gratitude for his guidance and
encouragement, and also the wool merchant Sano di Maco
di Mazzacomo, with whom she carried on a close spiritual
correspondence, and Niccolo di Mino, called Cicerchia, and
Gabriele di Davino Piccolomini, whose admiration for her found
expression in his book, the ‘Ricordi’, now unfortunately lost, and

HER DISCIPLES INCREASE 143

Tommaso di Guelfaccio, who was, according to Feo Belcari, one
of the ‘Nine*. This man, greedy, sensual and worldly, was con¬
verted by Colombini, became a strict Gesuate, and later, a fervid
follower of Catherine. All these differed very much in tempera¬
ment, gifts and intelligence, yet every one wanted to be the child
of such a Mother. None of them showed exceptional talent;
all trusted their saintly leader. None of them was capable of
great spiritual flights, but they all had a share in her spiritual life.
All these Caterinati formed a compact group, with a clearly
defined character and one aim only: to be ruled by the love of
God, which Catherine practised and preached. They knew that
their spiritual and moral weaknesses were no secret to her, and so
they opened their hearts to her like children. They wished to
drown themselves in the Blood of Christ, but how could they do
this unless she, the Saint, immersed them? They needed to see
her, hear her, be near to her, receive encouragement and comfort
from her, to climb more easily to God. All wanted to be the
closest to her care, and were greedy even of the crumbs that fell
during her spiritual banquets. When she was in ecstasy they
contemplated her, ready to seize upon the least word she uttered—
that they might hear it echo in their hearts, for weeks, months,
years. They would watch her expressive face and rejoice or
grieve as an angelic smile or look of sorrow appeared on those
features so wasted by fastings and prayers.

All these children were dear to her; she shared in their activity
and thought, grieved over their faults and was willing to make
atonement for their graver sins. For all of them she had the right
word ready at the right moment, for the need of that particular
case. Sometimes she had to open painful wounds, but her lancet
was delicate, and she was always ready to bind the wound with
the thread of love. Although so much in demand by all, she
forsook none of them in trouble, but looked after and encouraged
every one. They often caused her fears and anxieties; she wept
over them and offered herself as a sacrifice to God, who knew how
insistently she strove with Him for the salvation of their souls
through Christ’s transforming power. By her side each felt
loved and protected, and acquired such confidence as to believe
himself capable even of heroism.

If we think of those gatherings in her cell, when she spoke in

144 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

the midst of her faithful, we are reminded of the disciples of
Jesus on the day of Pentecost. This was a lesser Pentecost, it is
true, but here also there was a welling up and outpouring of
spiritual streams, and a new apostolic fervour for the service of
suffering humanity, in an atmosphere of enthusiasm and joy.
Catherine knew how to make clear to a man’s heart what usually
lies hidden in the depths of his being, and requires laborious and
painful self-searching to reveal. She had spent whole years in
searching for her own soul and getting to know the divine in it,
and so she knew how to touch the most delicate strings of the
heart, to teach her disciples how to examine themselves and
become aware of the almighty power of God within them, and
be set on fire by the flame of the Holy Spirit.

Ser Cristofano di Gano di Guidini was another who could not
resist Catherine’s spell. He was a skilled notary, who had been one
of the fifteen Defenders of the Republic of Siena in March and
April of 1373 and 1374. He was a very clear-sighted thinker,
accustomed to political and business life, not at all given to
enthusiasms. He was a cultured man, and liked to interrogate and
listen to the opinions of others, and then follow his own ideas.
His friends Neri di Landoccio and Nigi di Doccio took him to
Catherine. He went to her cell more from curiosity than from
devotion, but as soon as he found himself in her presence and she
spoke to him, he was struck with wonder: ‘I heard from her about
God quae non licet Itomini loqui'. He could hardly believe that a
woman could talk in that way, and yet he heard her with his own
ears. Her words were so burning and spoke so directly to his
soul that he turned pale. After the first visit he went back again;
bethought that perhaps seeing and hearing her again might lessen
her effect on liim, and lead him to modify his opinion; instead,
his liking and admiration grew. He became one of her followers:
‘for when I had had experience of her holy teaching and counsel
I found that God had touched my heart to despise the things of
this world’. He remained for the rest of his life one of her faithful
disciples, translated the ‘Dialogue’ into Latin, had her portrait
painted in the Cathedral of Siena, and also in a vineyard he
possessed at Armaiuolo, and, out of ‘reverence’, had two of his
daughters called by her name. The ‘Memorie’, written long after
Catherine’s death, are still full of grateful emotion and reverent

HER DISCIPLES INCREASE 145

enthusiasm for her ‘through whose prayers I have received much
grace from God’.

★ ★ *

We have only two letters of Catherine’s dating from the
second half of 1374. Each is written to a great figure of that time,
Piero Gambacorta, Lord of Pisa, and Cardinal Jacopo Orsini.
The letters are mainly occupied with religion but they have
social and political importance because of the authoritative
positions held by those to whom she wrote. The letter to Piero
Gambacorta is a reply to one Catherine had received from him
and the ladies of his family, and perhaps also from a group of
pious folk, inviting her to go to Pisa, where she was already
known by fame. Fra Bartolomeo and Tommaso da Siena, who
had been in Pisa a few months before, had probably done much
to make her extraordinary life known to the citizens, and the
Gambacorta family, always in close touch with Florence, may
have heard about the favourable result of her trial before the
General Chapter of the Dominicans during May. Raimondo da
Capua tells us that ‘when the plague was over many men and
women, religious and lay, and particularly some nuns of Pisa,
having heard of the Saint’s great fame, burning with the desire to
see her and hear her wonderful doctrine . . . begged her in letters
and messages to deign to come to Pisa’. Perhaps Catherine had
already declined other invitations from admiring Pisans before
receiving this letter from Gambacorta, and it may even be that
the people had recourse to the Head of the Pisan Republic in die
hope that she could not refuse his invitation. On the other hand,
Gambacorta’s letter may have contained some personal confession,
or a request for advice for himself. One can gather little from
Catherine’s reply. She says she is very grateful for the invitation
which she is sorry to have to decline, on account of her delicate
health and because it might cause a scandal if she went travelling
about too much. There had already been murmurs about her
journeyings in the province of Siena, and she did not want to
rouse comment again. However, she believed that, if it was the
will of God, she would be able to go to Pisa later on, and would
do so very willingly. The rest of the letter is all taken up with
religion. We must detach ourselves from the world and become

I 46 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

like Christ. We must overcome sin and acquire the mastery over
ourselves, over our wrath, and our own faults; we must study and
know ourselves so as to recognise our own nothingness, that real
righteousness may be born in us, and love and the knowledge of
God. Sin cuts us off from life, that life to which we cling when we
follow in Christ's footsteps; it is our duty to keep our eyes fixed
on the righteousness of God, so as to punish the sin that is in us,
‘and especially when you find your own sin you must punish it
and mortify it as much as you can; and see that you do not close
your eyes to it, for if you do this you will be severely rebuked by
God'. Dupre-Thcseider adds the note: ‘she is perhaps alluding to a
vice or an evil personal inclination of Gambacorta’s, of which she
had knowledge, either by hearsay, or from himself’. Probably
Catherine is not thinking of any particular fault of Gambacorta’s,
but rather appealing to the Lord of Pisa, who is a man like other
men and therefore subject to sin, ‘to punish faults wherever they
are found’, a warning she might have given to any other person.

The letter to Cardinal Jacopo Orsini has a more precise inten¬
tion, and one which had more importance for her. In September
1371 the Cardinal, passing through Siena, had received a great
welcome, and Catherine may have heard about him, or even seen
him, though we have no evidence that she knew him personally.
In 1370 Orsini was Cardinal Protector of the Republic of Siena at
the Court of Avignon, and therefore Catherine may have con¬
sidered that he, better than anyone else, would acquaint the Pope
with her wishes, wishes that were shared by many Religious of
that time, by some members of the Curia, and by the Pope
himself. She asked the Cardinal to beg the Pope to keep his
promise to return to Rome, and also to persuade him to reconcile
France and England, and then, with the united forces of Christen¬
dom, launch a powerful Crusade against the infidels. And as she
had before this urged the same Cardinal not to sleep, but to
‘graft himself on to the tree of the Cross’, and be a strong champion
of the Church, she may have hoped he would become a paladin
of the Crusade that was so dear to her heart, and in support of
which she had already written, in March of the same year, to the
Pope. This letter shows great energy and frankness. Several of
her favourite themes return in it: notes that she sounds insistently
to induce men to understand and to seek redemption. They must

HER DISCIPLES INCREASE 147

never trust in themselves, but look to Christ by whom ‘life was
grafted on to death’, when He ‘ran as if enamoured to the shame¬
ful death of the Cross’, in which ‘so much warmth of love is seen,
and such sweet and gentle teaching, full of life-giving fruits’.
She has no fear about freely showing the distinguished Cardinal
all her thoughts, and placing before him, with due respect, his
own responsibility. ‘Are you not placed as a mirror in Holy
Church, where lay folk may see themselves?’ In all things, then,
he must be clear and limpid, he must love his enemies, render
good for evil, and acquire strength by becoming one with
Christ. Advice, warning and rebuke are merged in a single
appeal to rouse himself and reflect upon his religious duties.
Catherine had begun working upon the souls of members of the
Curia, and whether she knew it or not, was preparing the ground
for her future work.

Her visitors became ever more numerous. Events had com¬
bined to render her famous: the confidence placed in her by the
Order of Preachers in the Chapter of Florence; her indefatigable
care of souls and bodies during the plague in Siena; her corre¬
spondence with highly placed civic and religious personages; her
ever growing fame as a miracle worker. It was not only the
derelict and forsaken who ran to her for a ray of light or a word
of comfort: it was also all those who believed in the progress and
triumph of the spirit, and wanted her to help them to deepen their
spiritual life. ‘Very many Religious also’, says Fra Bartolomeo
Dominici, ‘went to her, and she comforted them one and all, and
edified them wonderfully, so that when they took leave of her
they always begged to be allowed to come again. And they were
not only the young and ignorant, but also the old and learned,
many of whom were marvellously changed for the better by her.’

Not all her visitors, however, were well-intentioned. Among
the Religious of Siena there were many who doubted her sincerity
and orthodoxy, and thought her fame an artificial creation of the
Dominicans. Her greatest critics were, somewhat naturally,
Franciscans. We have seen what happened to Fra Lazzarino da
Pisa. He certainly became a Caterinato, but his conversion and
the great trust he had in her did not suffice to allay the distrust
and aversion that others of his brethren felt for her. She was ‘an
ignorant young woman, who goes about seducing simple folk

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

I48

with false expositions of Holy Scripture, and sends their souls to
Hell, and her own soul too’, thought and said some theologians
renowned in Siena and in their own Orders. The Provincial of
the Friars Minor, Fra Gabriele da Voltcrra, and the Augustinian
hermit Fra Giovanni Terzo were among these. The former,
according to Fra Bartolomeo Dominici, was ‘very famous in all
Italy for his learning and eloquence’; even his enemies acknow¬
ledged his great oratorical gifts. ‘ Nolite dccipi in sui rotunditate
sermonis\ says Coluccio Salutati; and, comparing him to the
sirens, he puts the Sienese on their guard lest ‘with the honeyed
sweetness of his speech he deceive you, and put you to sleep with
his songs, and at last, when you are sleeping, strike and kill you
with his spiky tail’.

Fra Gabriele occupied various important ecclesiastical positions,
including that of Inquisitor in Siena. He was a Doctor of Theology,
but very presumptuous, a Franciscan, but living a life of luxury.
In politics he was inclined to grovel to those in authority. When
in 1378 he was recalled from exile, he wrote to the Rulers of
Siena to thank them, but was so forgetful of his own manly and
priestly dignity as to offer himself, body and soul, to these
victors: ‘ Animam tamen et corpus vestre sitnpliciter offeropotestati ...’.
There is certainly no sign of Christian or Franciscan feeling here;
the Friar served men more willingly than he served God, and if
he was still like this several years after having known Catherine
he must have been still more of a flatterer, and more greedy for
fame and honour before he knew her. Irritated by the constant
talk in Siena about this woman, who was moreover a Dominican
and defended by the Order of Preachers, and who wrote to
Cardinals and Heads of States and grew more famous every day,
he decided to put to the test her knowledge and interpretation of
the Scriptures, and find out the nature of the fascination she
exercised over so many people. Giovanni Terzo, also a Doctor of
Theology, was at one with him in wishing to examine Catherine’s
patristic and scriptural learning, for they both thought that if she
did possess such knowledge it could not have come from God.
They decided to go to visit her. Fra Bartolomeo Dominici wastes
few words on the subject of this visit: ‘on hearing Catherine
speak Fra Gabriele’s heart was changed, and, after that, he often
visited her with much devotion’. Perhaps this conciseness of

HER DISCIPLES INCREASE 1 49

style is due to his reluctance to describe a scene very similar to that
which he had already recounted about Fra Lazzarino da Pisa. Or
he may have forgotten the details, or thought the conversion less
important than that of Fra Lazzarino, and so not worth dwelling
on at such length. We do not know his motives for describing it
so briefly. But Malavolti, who, with many other disciples, was
present at Fra Gabriele’s visit, describes it very fully. Catherine
was addressing the faithful who were already in her room when
all at once she was silent, and then, with radiant face and eyes
turned to Heaven, began to speak, saying among other things:
‘Blessed be Thou, sweet and eternal Bridegroom, who drawest
souls to Thyself in so many different ways!’ Those words at that
moment surprised her hearers, and Fra Tommaso della Fonte,
his curiosity aroused, then asked her: ‘What does that mean that
you said just now? Tell me, and let us all understand.’ She
replied: ‘My Father, before long you will sec two large fish enter
the net’, and would add nothing else. The curiosity of her friends
and followers was increased and they were all waiting in suspense
when suddenly one of Catherine’s women companions entered
the room and announced the arrival of the learned Gabriele da
Voltcrra and Giovanni Terzo, each accompanied by a confrere.
Catherine moved to welcome them, but almost at once they
appeared in the doorway of the cell and crossed the threshold,
begging those present not to stir, because they had nothing private
to say. They sat down and then turned directly on Catherine,
asking her the most difficult questions. It looked like a serious
examination of her orthodoxy, as if they were trying to confuse
her, frighten her, and make her fall into contradictions. Perhaps
they wanted to gather from her lips some material they needed
to be able, later, to accuse her of heresy. When they had finished
their questions Catherine remained for some time as if in a trance
—her visitors and disciples began to feel some anxiety as they
waited—then, coming back to herself, she turned to the two
Doctors and upbraided them, telling them their vaunted learning
was harmful to those who professed it, and of very little use to
anyone else. The quotations they had made, passage after passage
from the Saints, did not prove that they understood what was the
kernel of the Christian religion—they had stopped at the outer
rind. With this wealth of quotations from theologians and Fathers

150 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

of the Church they wished to be admired and praised by a public
that did not seek for the profound truth of the spirit; their hearts
were fed on ambition and vanity, but she implored them, for the
love of Clirist Crucified, to forsake dead learning and seek for the
living and active wisdom that dwells in the love of Christ.

These were fine words, but not unusual for a servant of God,
and much below Catherine’s normal spiritual level; however, she
must have uttered them with such warmth and conviction, and
with such inspired accents, that she shocked and alarmed the two
Doctors, who began to feel their own guilt. Sometimes, in those
in whom we least expect it, occur these upheavals of the soul, and
from stupor, confusion and pain arise impulses of love which, for
a time at least, render the spirit like purest flame. Such a radical
change of conscience came about in that moment in Fra Gabriele;
at once he gave up the luxurious furnishings of his three cells, and
distributed all the books and precious objects he possessed,
leaving himself only his Breviary; and after this he came fre¬
quently to visit the Tertiary of Fontebranda.

Giovanni Terzo was converted, too. He had not lived sump¬
tuously like Fra Gabriele, and so his renunciation of worldly
goods was less dramatic. But as his soul was very sensitive to
religion he became more and more attached to Catherine and was
often at her side as an admiring helper. It was probably through
him that she came to know some Augustinian hermits in the
Selva del Lago, or Lecceto (the ilex wood), who became her
faithful friends and followers: Father William of Fleete, Fra
Antonio of Nice, and Fra Felice of Massa.

The anonymous author of the ‘Miracoli’ wrote before October
ioth, 1374: ‘In the Selva del Lago’ (the wood by the lakeside)
‘four miles from Siena, dwells a community of Augustinian
hermits, amongst whom is an English Father who is called the
Bachelor of the Selva del Lago, and he has lived there for more
than twelve years. He is a man of great learning, a venerable man,
very holy and a great lover of solitude. He often goes to live hi the
depths of the forest in caves that he has made himself in dark
almost inaccessible places, and there he takes his books, to flee the
society of man. And according as he wills, he goes and comes
from the church to the wood and from the wood to the church.
He is a man of ripe counsel, a friend of God, a great example; he

HER DISCIPLES INCREASE I 5 I

speaks very little and only when necessity obliges speech. He had
never seen Catherine, nor she him, but they had instinctive
knowledge of each other through the Holy Spirit, so that each
talked of the other’s doings, with the greatest possible solemnity
and reverence.’

This spiritual acquaintance became personal some time
towards the end of 1374 or the beginning of 1375, and
so began a close friendship between Catherine and the
Augustinian hermit. It is not clear whether it was about
this time that Catherine visited the hermitages of Lecceto.
According to Giovanni di Ser Mino she actually stayed there,
but although this is quite possible we cannot ascertain the date
of tills visit.

Among the Augustinians there were some opposed to Catherine.
We have already seen how the Doctor of Cambridge, Giovanni
Terzo, was prejudiced against her before Ills conversion. Two
years later we find Fra Ruffino, called by Giovanni of the Cells a
‘Master of vain and worldly philosophy’, and Giovanni da
Salerno accusing her of heresy. Some of the hermits at Lecceto
also must have been opposed to her. Otherwise it is difficult to
explain the silence of Fra Filippo degli Agazzari about her. His
‘Assempri’ were compiled in 1397, after the ‘Leggenda Maggiore’
had been written, and when many of Catherine’s miracles had
been accepted by Religious and quoted as examples. Fra Filippo,
who set out to show that miracles not only happened in ancient
times, but happened also in his own century, never mentions her
name. We conclude that he did not consider Catherine’s miracles
were among those ‘of which I have had no doubt in my mind,
and about which I am sure I have been told the truth’. To be
sure, Filippo’s temperament was the very opposite of Catherine’s.
He was a hard, unyielding monk, very easily scandalised. He saw
nothing but death and perdition for mankind, and in the world
only corruption and darkness. On a very minor scale he showed
certain spiritual qualities reminiscent of Tertullian or St Peter
Damian. His mind was closed and contained in a few conceptions,
and he attacked fiercely, often with more violence than strength,
men and behaviour that were not to his own taste. He was
incapable of searching the depths of the human soul, and finding
that wonderful flame which is in all men, hidden below the

152 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

darkness, the flame that Pascal, who often shuddered at the
thought of the utter wretchedness of man, was thrilled with
joy to discover. Books such as the ‘Disprezzo del Mondo’
(‘Scorn of the World’) must have served Filippo for his daily
bread, and his normal tone of voice was that of the Dies Irae. He
had no warmth of human feeling, no understanding of the
conflicts and dramas of life, no way of measuring evil with the
measure of love. He must have found Catherine incomprehens¬
ible. Compare his words: ‘Would to God it might happen thus
to all wretched women (that is, to burst, as a young bride had
burst through having worn too tight a dress, so as to appear
‘more beautiful and dainty’) ‘who think of nothing else but
themselves and the adornment of their cursed filthy bodies, who
nourish their putrid flesh for worms to eat, and their souls for
devils . . with these of Catherine’s, written to a prostitute:
‘Do yourself holy violence; raise yourself up out of this wretched¬
ness and filth. You will see that Christ has prepared a bath of
Blood to cleanse you of the leprosy of mortal sin, and all its
impurity, in which you have lain so long. Your gentle God will
not disown you.’ Such opposing characteristics as are shown here
indicate that Catherine and Filippo could not speak the same
language.

Father William of Fleete, called the Bachelor, whose portrait
we have seen vividly drawn in the ‘Miracoli’, was of a very
different character from his confrere Fra Filippo. Reflection
induced him to consider Catherine’s activity with sympathy, and
contemplation led him to recognise in her a spiritual sister.
The ‘reverence’ he felt for her before he knew her personally
became veneration once he had known her. She had reached
lofty heights of contemplation, but she had also the practical
activity that he lacked. She translated every impulse of love into
generous works of charity, whereas he could not venture outside
the spiritual field. Her energy was unusual and superior, as he
realised when they met. He preferred to meditate in the seclusion
of the forest of Lecceto, or in his caves; whereas she spoke to
hundreds of people, raising them from the lowest depths and
bearing them from Hell to Paradise. While he loved to dwell
among the ancient trees, invoking the descent of the Holy Spirit
upon himself, she, inspired by the Spirit, suffered and struggled

HER DISCIPLES INCREASE 153

to transform consciences. When meditating in the forest he liked
to feel himself becoming one with Nature, while Catherine, often
in agony, steeped herself in the Blood of Christ, and offered
herself to atone for the sins of others. His heart was touched as he
watched the leaves, the flowers, the trees, the fantastic lights and
shadows of the forest, the worms, the birds with their songs, now
gay, now mournful, and all the wild life of the greenwood, that
passed him by, or paused as if spell-bound, to gaze at him in fear
or curiosity; he loved all this and found joy in it. Catherine,
meanwhile, seeking for pain and hardship to purify herself in
suffering, plunged into the fray to convert men and rout devils.

Because of this diversity of temperament and identity of
spiritual aims, William of Fleete admired Catherine, and according
to Cristofano di Gano, touched her habit with reverence and
devotion as if it were a consecrated thing. ‘He used to say to us:
“You don’t know her, or who she is; the Pope should be grateful
to be one of her children; she really has the Holy Spirit in
her.” ’

Catherine had a great affection and regard for him, too, recog¬
nising in him a great contemplative and a man of God. The
hermit’s experience was precious to her in her spiritual pilgrimage,
and when she confided in him she could be sure of his under¬
standing her. Her friend the Bachelor was learned, moderate in
judgment, and well-balanced in character; he devoted himself to
God, strove after perfection, and understood and practised
Christian charity. Like Catherine he was in favour of the Crusades,
like her he was strict with himself but full of understanding for
others’ weakness. He also desired the moral reform of the clergy,
but was no fanatical ascetic. He was one of the band of God’s
eager heralds.

When a critical edition of all William of Fleete’s writings has
been published, we shall better be able to study him, and to
ascertain with greater precision how much mutual exchange of
spiritual wealth there was between these two great souls. What
we know at present is barely enough for guesswork, but we may
be sure that a great deal of the Augustinian teaching that we find
in Catherine’s work came to her through her friends, the hermits
of Lecceto, and especially from Father William. Whatever their
mutual influence may have been, we know this, that Catherine

L

154 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

loved him so dearly that, when dying, of all her disciples she
chose this Englishman, who had been living at Lecceto since the
8th September, 1359, to entrust to him the care of her spiritual
Family.

Chapter VII
THE STIGMATA

Piero Gambacorta’s invitation to Catherine to go to Pisa was
declined, but only for the time being. It was received ‘with
affectionate love’ and aroused a new hope in her heart that Pisa
might be another field of spiritual labour, where the Crusades
might also be preached. ‘I shall be ready to obey the command of
the Primal Truth, and yours also’, she replied to Gambacorta.
Meanwhile she asked herself repeatedly whether or not God wished
her to go there, and this concentration of thought was already a
way of preparing herself for the answer.

But in her spiritual Family there arose discordant voices. ‘There
were some to persuade, and some to dissuade her/ Fra Bartolomeo
Dominici, who had been in Pisa a few months earlier with Fra
Tonnnaso da Siena and had spoken a great deal about her there,
was probably favourable—and his opinion had much weight with
Catherine; Fra Tonnnaso della Fonte, more sensitive to the petty
gossip of the devout Sienese, with a rather timid outlook circum¬
scribed by the life of the city, was probably averse to her journey.
As for Fra Raimondo, he hints at the disagreement among
Catherine’s disciples, without giving his own view; but, con¬
sidering his character, we may be sure that, in spite of some linger¬
ing uncertainty, on the whole he approved of Catherine’s mission.
Indeed, as soon as she told him of the vision in which she had
received from the Lord a peremptory order to go to Pisa, he
willingly gave her his permission to go.

The date of her departure for Pisa is not known, but we know
that Fra Raimondo, who accompanied her there, was still in
Siena on January 20th, 1375, so her journey must have taken
place after that date. At Pisa, Catherine and her women compan¬
ions were lodged in the house of Gherardo de’ Buonconti, who

155

156 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

belonged to an old Pisan family, living near the Church of Santa
Cristina, and near also to the Gambacorta Palace, in the ‘Chiasso
dci Facchim (‘the Street of the Porters’) in the Kinseca quarter.
The three Dominicans who accompanied her, Fra Tommaso, Fra
Bartolomeo and Fra Raimondo, probably stayed in the Domini¬
can Priory in the city. Catherine spent her first weeks in Pisa in
prayer, meditation and study. She wrote at this time to Sano di
Maco: ‘ We have never yet left Gherardo’s house; we shall go out
when the time comes that God has ordained’. The numerous
visitors, rich and poor, old and young, learned and ignorant, who
flocked to her as soon as it was known that a Saint had arrived in
Pisa, must have informed her of the conditions and needs of the
Pisans.

Poverty and suffering ravaged the city. Since 1371 famine had
weakened bodies and souls, and, a few months before Catherine
arrived, the plague had decimated the population. Pisa was now
a poor, shrunken Republic, and what pride the citizens still had
was but the memory of the greatness and power of their distant
past. Industries had decayed, trade had dwindled, the fine arts
were languishing for lack of the creative spirit. The Government,
the shipbuilders and the traders tried to encourage commerce,
strengthening their connections with Egypt, Tangier, Morocco,
and North Africa in general, but the profits were insignificant.
The establishment of firm trade relations with Florence helped
the Pisans to eke out a living, but brought no wealth. Pietro
Gambacorta ruled the state very wisely; he was an intelligent and
able administrator, a moderate man of firm principles, loyal to his
friends and allies; but he could not restore to its former greatness
a Republic of such shrunken dimensions, short of men fit to work
or fight, with a countryside that yielded little produce and was
frequently laid waste and looted by mercenary Companies. A
bold foreign policy of wide range was unthinkable, when Pisa
was threatened on all sides by more powerful states. A policy of
peace with all was the only one that could enable the city to
preserve its own autonomy and a certain independence, and such
was, in fact, the policy desired by the Pisan shipbuilders and mer¬
chants, and practised in so far as he could by Gambacorta. There
was no other way of preserving their state: hence ‘the moderate
and conciliatory attitude of the Pisan Government—even at the

THE STIGMATA 157

most difficult moments it aimed at softening the harshness of
disagreements between other states, and proposing agreements
and councils to avoid war whenever possible’, as Pietro Silva
observes in his volume on the Government of Pietro Gambacorta
in Pisa. Besides being opportune and necessary for Pisa, this policy
was also humane and beneficent for the other states. The Pisans
wanted peace so as to be able to increase their trade and wealth,
but Gambacorta’s own activity in favour of a general peace in
Tuscany and Italy had also a loftier purpose, because it corres¬
ponded to his ideal of harmony among peoples, which he desired
to bring about immediately, if only partially, by binding Florence
and Pisa in a common covenant with all the other states. This plan,
even if doomed to failure, showed his magnanimity of soul. His
opinion, therefore, when it came to negotiating treaties or form¬
ing leagues and alliances, was always listened to with respect.

It is not known when or how Catherine met the Lord of Pisa,
or of what they spoke together, but it is clear that in Pisa she
found herself in a magnificent observation post for studying the
political field. It was probably here, guided by the advice of Fra
Raimondo da Capua, who must have been all eyes and ears to
observe the politics of the various states of Tuscany and the rest of
Italy, so as to see whether they were favourable or hostile to the
Holy See—and thanks to the moderate counsels of Piero Gamba¬
corta—that she made up her mind about her future line of action
in defence of the Church.

She was burning with zeal to preach the new Crusade, and
Pisa, linked with the Holy Land by memory and tradition, seemed
a propitious field for her endeavours. The Pisan galleys had fought
bravely against the Mahomedans, and won glorious victories, in
token of which their churches were still hung with standards
snatched from the Saracens. The memory of Calvary was always
present to Pisan folk, because their own cemetery, the Campo
Santo, contained the earth that Archbishop Lanfranchi had dug
from the hill of Calvary in 1188, and brought home to Pisa in
fifty-two ships. Propaganda for the Crusade might well be popular
in Pisa, and Catherine believed that with the help of God she
might induce the citizens to take part in the holy expedition. But
the time for that was not yet; ‘we shall go out when the time
comes that God has ordained’.

I58 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

During these first weeks in Pisa, she continued to receive visitors,
console the sad, encourage the disconsolate, infuse faith and hope
in all who saw her, and, above all, exhort them to love and pray:
‘Let your hearts and souls burst with love, she wrote at that time,
and her spiritual life, enriched with new experiences, became ever
more vigorous. Fra Raimondo tells us of two miracles she per¬
formed at this time: the cure of a young man, twenty years of
age, presented to her by her host Gherardo de’ Buonconti, and the
miracle of the ‘vemaccia’ wine. The former, although not con¬
firmed by other writers, rings true: the youth had suffered from
a fever for eighteen months, perhaps a nervous fever, and one
already on the wane, for we learn that ‘although at the moment
the fever had left him, yet till dien it had been continuous’, and
it had left him pale and wasted; Catherine spoke to him and
induced him to purify his soul by repentance and confession; then,
laying her hand on his shoulder and thus imparting to him the
power she received from God, she convinced him of his recovery,
and cured his bodily weakness.

As for the other miracle: one day Catherine was so exhausted
after an ecstasy that Fra Raimondo and Gherardo de’ Buonconti
feared she was near to death. To revive her strength, as she would
not swallow even a little sweetened water, Fra Raimondo thought
of bathing her wrists and temples, as was the custom, with wine
called ‘vemaccia’. Gherardo at once sent a servant to a friend to
beg him for some of this wine, but his friend replied that he had
not had any of it for three months; to prove this, he took the
servant into his cellar, showed him the cask of vcrnaccia, and
took out the stopper. Immediately, to his great surprise, the wine
gushed out, fresh and abundant, overflowing on to the ground.
When this was described to Gherardo and Fra Raimondo, they
declared it was miraculous, and the story got about so quickly
that for some days it was the chief subject of conversation all over
the city. Not everyone heard of it with joy; some were reserved
in judgment, others denied the miracle, some used the story to
make fun of Catherine. She herself became aware of this when,
going through the streets to visit the Apostolic Legate, who was
passing through Pisa, she heard the cry: ‘Who is this woman,
who drinks no wine, but fills an empty cask with miraculous
wine?’ At first she did not understand the jest. When she learnt

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159

the cause she became very sad and, weeping, turned to God and
complained of being mocked; and, as she had never asked for the
wine, now, so as to give no further cause for mockery, she asked
God to dry up all the wine that remained in the cask. ‘The Lord
heard her prayer and, as if He could not bear her grief, performed
the second miracle that was, to my mind, greater than the first’,
adds Fra Raimondo, very ingenuously.

In our own day everyone sees the inconsistency and the
triviality of this story, and its contradictions. In fact, all the first
part might be simply the result of an error on the part of the
friend who had die wine: he thought it was finished and, instead,
there was some left. The second part shows how annoyed Catherine
was at hearing herself made responsible for a miracle she had not
worked, and which, moreover, exposed her to ridicule. Her
irritation and rebellion are understandable. It is unnecessary to
analyse here the somewhat fragile details of this miracle or to
underline the futility of the whole story—which does no credit
to Fra Raimondo’s judgment.

Catherine seems to us much more admirable when, during
these months at Pisa, a Dominican novice, Baronto di Ser Dato,
introduced to the cult of Catherine by his own Master, Domenico
dei Peccioli, the author of the ‘Cronaca del Convento di Santa
Caterina in Pisa’, came to her to be set free from a disease that the
doctors had not been able to cure. The boy spoke with the frank
confidence of his sixteen years, while Catherine looked at him
with her characteristic gentle smile. Then she said: ‘My little son,
your infirmity will be useful to you, and help you to save your
soul; if you were cured of it, you would sin very much. You will
bear this infirmity all your life, but it will not prevent you from
working assiduously for the good of your Order.’ Here we see
the real Catherine, humane and loving with all, knowing that even
the friends of God must observe certain limits, and therefore
unwilling to perform miracles for their own sake, or just to strike
the imagination of men.

On the 1st of April, 1375, in the Church of Santa Cristina in
Pisa, where she was wont to spend long hours at her devotions,
Catherine underwent what is usually considered a most out¬
standing experience in the life of a Saint: she received the Stig¬
mata. It is useless to re-open a debate that lasted for centuries,

160 my SERVANT CATHERINE

about the authenticity of her wounds. Officially, the favourable

verdict came only in 1630, through the mouth of Urban VIII, and

the Office of the Sacred Stigmata of St Catherine of Siena was not

ordered until the eighteenth century, and then by Pope Benedict

XIII.

Until that day polemics had been harsh and the battle furious;
there were dramatic ups and downs of triumph and despair.
Frequently, instead of an impartial enquiry, it was a struggle about
the honour, or rather, a point of honour, of a religious Order, and
judgment was more or less swayed by passion. The Franciscans
would not admit that anyone else, especially a woman, had
received the Stigmata in the same way as St Francis; the Domini¬
cans wanted to set their Sienese Saint on as high a pedestal as the
Saint of Assisi. Peoples took sides and fought to defend their glory
rather than the truth; and acrimony was greater than love. The
common people also were engaged, clamouring for protectors
and defenders, demanding fresh examinations and amassing piles
of documents. The diatribes of friars and lay folk became ever
more fierce: what had been a Dominican honour and glory
became the honour and glory of Siena and Tuscany. A most
serious dispute was threatening—but in the end the Franciscans
had to retire in good order, and accept, unwillingly enough, the
Dominican and Sienese victory. Even today, some Franciscans
deny that there has ever been any other stigmatic but St Francis,
thus excluding St Catherine of Siena.

One must admit also, that there are eminent ecclesiastics,
trained in historical and scientific research, who deny the reality
of Catherine’s stigmata, because they were invisible. It is true that
it would be impossible to prove their existence scientifically,
because Catherine alone felt and saw her wounds, and those who,
later on, bore witness to them, were her friends and disciples,
who believed and repeated what she had told them. As Pietro
De Bongnie wrote in his work on stigmatisation in the Middle
Ages, ‘the witness of friends and familiars, of devout souls who
form a faithful and, too often, a blind bodyguard around the
stigmatised, cannot be used to support a scientific conclusion’. It
is also true, however, that if in Catherine’s case we lack objective
proofs, or testimony external to her own group, by which the
authenticity of her stigmata may be established, nevertheless her

THE STIGMATA

161

own experience cannot be set aside, and it must be recognised
that for her these wounds that she felt painfully in her flesh were
the fruit of ardent desire, and for her were very real.

Fixed in her mind was the image of St Francis, when
\ . . on the harsh rock between Tiber and Amo,

From Christ did he receive that final imprint’,
and, at least from 1370 onwards, she had longed to receive the
same grace. Like Elizabeth of Spalbeek, she had already felt in a
vision the pain caused by the crown of thorns that Jesus had worn;
like Margherita Colomia, in another vision she had felt the pierc¬
ing of one of the nails of the Cross; but to have in her own body
the very wounds of her Bridegroom was a proof of supreme love,
and therefore she ardently desired it. She remembered St Francis,
and always saw him as she had gazed at him countless times in
paintings that represented him on the mountain of La Verna, in the
act of receiving the Stigmata. ‘One day, while she was in Pisa, in
the Church of Santa Christina, virgin and martyr, having fallen
into an ecstasy after Holy Communion, as she was wont to do,
she had begged her Bridegroom for this grace with intense
devotion and fervour, and those about her saw her place her
hands and feet in the same attitude as that in which the Blessed
Francis is usually painted when receiving the sacred stigmata.
After remaining thus for some time she came to herself and
returned home. Then those of her followers who had seen her in
ecstasy and wished to know why she had held her hands and feet
outstretched so long, in this unusual way, asked her about it
privately; she replied: “O my children, give thanks with me to
God who does not disdain the petitions of the poor, but receives
and grants their humble prayers”. Then she told them she had
long besought the Lord for this grace, and that, during that very
morning, after praying for it most fervently, she had received her
reward/ So, for the rest of her life, she bore the sacred wounds,
which filled her with new energy and new enthusiasm for the
cause of God. In the past she had had clear proofs of the presence
of Christ in her, but there had also been times when she had felt
nothing but aridity, discouragement and spiritual emptiness—
when she had been a prey to doubts and agonising fears; from
now onwards her certainty never faltered; bearing in her own
body the wounds of the Crucified she was sure of her Bride-

162 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

groom’s perfect love. She rejoiced even when the invisible
wounds gave her pain; like that other great lover, St Francis, she
had ‘realised* the sufferings of Golgotha, and could now repeat
with St Paul: ‘I live, yet not I, but Christ lives in me*. ‘From that
time forward, as if, through her Saviour’s grace, assured of His
presence widiin her, in spite of all her daily sufferings, in all her
actions and labours undertaken for the glory of God and the
salvation of souls, she seemed stronger and happier.’

We have quoted the words of Fra Bartolomeo Dominici rather
than those of Fra Raimondo da Capua, because the former seems
to describe more clearly the central motive of Catherine’s stig¬
matisation. Fra Bartolomeo was not present at the time, but he
may have heard all about it shortly afterwards, from those who
were present, or from Catherine herself. The excellent knowledge
he had of her soul, and his sense of proportion in observing and
judging her spiritual development, enabled him to understand
die event better than Fra Raimondo, who loved to linger over
his descriptions, which sometimes he did not hesitate to embroider.
From Fra Bartolomeo’s account it is clear diat Catherine had
constantly present to her mind the vision of St Francis receiving
the stigmata, as she had seen this represented in paintings, and that
she longed for a similar grace for herself, as her love for Christ
Crucified became more and more fervent.

These intense meditations on the stigmata and her longing to
receive them herself might lead one to suppose that hers was a
case of auto-suggestion leading to hallucination. To refute this
scientifically it would be necessary to study the whole process of
stigmatisation, and even tliis would not lead us to sure and
unanswerable conclusions. From the scientific point of view, it is
an insoluble problem. Dr Jean Lhermitte, of the Medical Faculty
of the University of Paris, concluded his study of the medical
problem of stigmatisation (October 1935) with these judicious
words: ‘The process of stigmatisation appears to be utterly
unintelligible and inexplicable. In truth, there exists no psycho¬
logical process that in the least resembles stigmatisation which,
when genuine, belongs to a special category of its own, respond¬
ing to some mechanism that absolutely eludes scientific analysis....
And we affirm that there is no such tiling as psychological or dia-
psychological stigmatisation; there is only a stigmatisation that is

THE STIGMATA 163

at the same time extra-psychological and extra-physiological/

It would be ridiculous to believe that Catherine was guilty of
fraud in spiritual matters, and therefore we must take her word
for it when she says she received the stigmata, even if she alone
felt and saw them. Once we have abandoned a purely negative
attitude and accepted stigmatisation as extra-psychological and
extra-physiological, we arc free to admit that a special grace of
God corresponded to her ardent desire to feel what St Francis had
felt. It is not illogical to suppose that if his love for Christ enabled
the little Poor Man of Assisi to receive the Stigmata, the same
love for Christ may have led to the same result for the Saint of
Fontebranda. If mystical stigmatisation is understood as God’s
answer to a sublime love, what valid reason can be produced for
acknowledging the stigmata in one real Saint and denying them
in another Saint, equally real?

Why should we believe that in the whole story of mysticism
St Francis alone received the sacred wounds? No one questions
his greatness; certain qualities of his make him even more beloved
than any other, but the greatness of these others is in no way
diminished by this. Once we have accepted mystical stigmatisa¬
tion, it follows that every mystic who reaches a certain level of
holiness is capable of receiving it, St Catherine, therefore, as well
as the Assisan Saint. It may be objected that St Francis’ wounds
were visible, and Catherine’s were not—but does that matter?
Must we therefore judge her to be guilty of unconscious deceit,
when she declares she feels and sees her own stigmata, that give
her such joy and pain? Her character, life, work and writings
prove her sincerity and her balanced judgment. We accept her
own account, and believe that in the Church of Santa Cristina in
Pisa on April 1st, 1375, while in ecstasy after her communion
she was contemplating Christ on the Cross, she really felt im¬
pressed upon her flesh the five wounds of the Crucified, thus
becoming not only His bride in love and joy, but His bride in pain
also, sharing with Him the sufferings He endured for the salvation
of men.

In Pisa Catherine’s fame spread as rapidly as in Siena, and here
also it aroused enthusiasm and disapproval. She spoke urgently
and impetuously to sinners, caressingly to the afflicted, as one
inspired to the faithful. Giovanni Doininici, many years after her

1 64 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

death, remembering her as if she were still present, described her
to his mother: ‘In Pisa in 1375 I saw her speaking to some sinners,
and her words were so profound, impassioned and powerful, that
at once they transformed the black pot into a clear crystal goblet’.
Bartolomeo Dominici says she was besieged by those in need of
help and comfort, and supplied their just needs, with acts or words,
v to the extent of her power. ‘A multitude of both sexes flocked to
hear her, and some, out of devotion, knelt before her and kissed
her hands’—a spontaneous expression of gratitude and affection,
which, however, did not fail to scandalise some of the Pisans.
They saw her accepting such homage ‘as if she were a great
personage’, and accused her of vanity. Vague murmurs circulated
in the city and then found tongue. Even Fra Raimondo, on hear¬
ing these complaints, was perturbed and doubtful, disapproving
of her behaviour on these occasions. One day he said to her, in
Fra Bartolomeo’s presence: ‘My mother, do you not see with
what great reverence your visitors treat you? Why do you not
''forbid this, seeing diat many folk are scandalised and complain
about this, thinking you take pleasure in it? Is it not possible also,
my mother, that a certain vainglory may be aroused in you by so
much honour and veneration?’

Catherine replied: ‘By the grace of God, I neither notice, nor
^ take pleasure in, the reverent behaviour of others towards me. In
those who come to me I study the state of their souls, and thank
the divine goodness that has sent them to me, and I pray that
those hopes and desires through which Fie inspired them to come
to speak to ine may be fulfilled in their souls. Moreover, I cannot
understand how any creature, knowing herself to be a creature,
can be vainglorious.’ With these words she cut short a rather
trivial disagreement with her spiritual directors.

But she had to withstand the opposition of other worthy men.
We know of two incredulous Pisan teachers who went to see her:
Giovanni Gittalebraccia and Pietro degli Albizzi. One was a
physician, the other a jurist: both very well known in Pisa. Like
Fra Lazzarino, Fra Gabriele da Volterra and Fra Giovanni Terzo,
they hoped to test the maiden’s knowledge and expose her ignor¬
ance, and be able to boast of having put her to shame with their
searching questions—accusing her of contradictions and perhaps
even of heresy. Fra Bartolomeo’s account does not give us enough

THE STIGMATA 165

data to judge of their talents or dialectical prowess. He quotes only
one of their questions: ‘When God created the world he said:
“Let there be . . and it was done; how can this be if God has
neither mouth nor tongue?’ This was a common enough objec¬
tion at that time and is found in most medieval tracts, but it does
not indicate much subtlety on the part of Catherine’s interlocutors.
Her reply is interesting in its simplicity and sound common sense.
After having wondered why two Doctors should go to a wretched
woman to ask for explanations of passages of Holy Scripture,
which she should instead ask of them, she apologised for im¬
provising her reply, which was as follows: ‘What does it matter
to me, and of what use is it to know how God, who is not cor¬
poreal but pure spirit only, created the world with His word ? On
the other hand, it is useful, nay, necessary, for me and for you to
know that Jesus Christ, the true son of God, took on human
nature for our salvation, and suffered and died for our redemp¬
tion ; this is what I need to know, and believing this and medita¬
ting on it, my heart is inflamed with love for Him who first loved
me.’ These words are characteristic of her practical mind: from
the Christian faith she needed to draw, not subjects for dispute
and controversy, but spiritual power for herself and for all. Such
a conviction, calmly and firmly expressed, must have shaken and
moved the two academic teachers, both accustomed to so-called
exhaustive explanations and subtle distinctions. In fact, after
hearing her they wept and were converted; in his enthusiasm
Messer Pietro degli Albizzi went so far as to beg Catherine to be
godmother to his as yet unborn child, and Catherine consented.

The onlooker most scandalised by Catherine’s popularity and
the veneration that surrounded her was the very mediocre poet,
Bianco da Siena. He was full of delicate feeling, and often mistook
his aspiration after ideals for their fulfilment. He was all ardour
and desire, and indulged in a perpetual wistfulness. His verses
were imitations of the Christian Latin songs of the Middle Ages,
and full of feeble reproductions of the poetry of Jacopone da
Todi, here and there reminiscent also of the ‘dolce stil nuovo’. He
was a facile, but not an original, versifier, adapting from others
all he found useful, without much discrimination, feeding his
imagination with ideas of the sweetness of union with God, but
without seeking this union for himself. We do not know whether

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

166

he ever met Catherine. Certainly he had no close acquaintanceship
with her. While he was a Gesuate at Citta di Castello someone
told him that she had become famous and was much praised. He
was indignant: how could a holy woman remain continually with
the multitude, and accept praise and honour? The world and
sanctity were irreconcilable. He himself, a disciple of Colombini,
mortified himself in seclusion, and gave himself over to medita¬
tion ; and could admit of no other way to holiness. If Catherine
really wanted to become a Saint she should leave the world, the
devil’s domain, which so easily induces to sin, and, retiring into
solitude, refuse all praise. He decided to put his warning into verse
form and send her an epistle in rhyme. The verses flowed easily
and sincerely, if without beauty. He urged her to be on her guard,
lest she lose the divine grace she had been granted. Many spoke
of her, calling her a friend of God, but she must beware of taking
pleasure in being praised, because this was all part of the devil’s
wiles. Praise, fame and honours presented grave dangers for the
spiritually minded, and might bring about their fall. Praise
encouraged vanity, and vanity led to falsehood. All this prophesy¬
ing and these lofty spiritual flights exposed her to great danger.
She should follow his example. He had chosen ‘scorn and mockery
and shame, poverty and sickness, and a way of life that seems
despicable’. She also should become very humble and descend to
dwell in humble places, if she wished to take shelter from the
storm and be illuminated by divine light.

He sent this epistle to Catherine, who received it in Pisa when
she was absorbed in preaching the salvation of souls and preparing
herself to speak for the Crusade. The letter first fell into the hands
of Fra Raimondo, who spoke of it with great indignation to Fra
Bartolomeo. The two debated whether to show the verses to
Catherine or not, and finally concluded it would be better for
them to reply to Bianco themselves, to rebuke him severely for
his rash judgment, and tell him lie knew nothing about the life of
the spirit, hi their discussion the two friars had raised their voices,
so diat Catherine, who was not far away, heard them and wanted
to know why they were so excited. They told her, and she desired
to see the letter, which was then read to her. As soon as she had
heard it all she gently reproached them for their wrath, saying:
‘You should join with me in thanking the author of this letter,

THE STIGMATA 167

who so frankly and sweetly warns me, for the good of my soul.
He is afraid I may be led astray from the ways of God, and he
prudently sets me on my guard against the wiles of my enemies.
Therefore, both you and I should be very grateful to him for his
kindness.’ Fra Raimondo, forgetting that he himself had at one
moment feared that all this reverent homage might induce
thoughts of vainglory in her, insisted that he should write to
Bianco, and Fra Bartolomeo Doininici tells us that Catherine
rebuked him for this persistence, and forbade him to do so, look¬
ing at them ‘darkly’ (torvo vultu) as she did when she was dis¬
pleased.

If Bianco da Siena had known Catherine better he would not
only have refrained from sending her a reproachful letter, but he
would have sought her friendship. If he had known her letters he
would have felt himself in spiritual harmony with her, and would
have been glad to find therein expressed with clearness, brevity
and force, those very conceptions that were the constant themes
of his own meditations and songs. But for him they were a far¬
away mirage, while for her they were an hourly experience. If he
had been able to observe her closely, in her unresting labours, he
would at once have chosen her as his teacher, as did all who
approached her with a desire to make progress in the life of the
spirit. Even when far away she never forsook her disciples, but
prayed for them and wrote to comfort, warn and instruct them.
Even during her laborious Pisan sojourn she found time to write to
her spiritual Family and friends. Only six of her letters of the first
three or four months at Pisa have come down to us: three to
Sano di Maco, two to Fra Bartolomeo Dominici, and one to
Bishop Ricasoh. All these letters were such as to arouse love and
excite enthusiasm. In her letter to Bishop Ricasoh she clearly
expressed for the first time her ideas about the corruption of the
high ecclesiastics, and the necessity for reform. She drew a com¬
parison between the spiritual shepherds of olden times and those
of her own age. The shepherds of old ‘acted like good gardeners
and workmen, placed in the garden of Holy Church as if strength¬
ened by this mother, they worked in the wind and weather of
many battles, to uproot vices and plant virtues. Widi no thought
of themselves they tended the fruit that they bore to God; they
were without self-love, they loved God for His own sake, because

168 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

He is the highest good and worthy of love, and themselves for
God’s sake, giving the glory to God and their labour to their
neighbour, and they loved their neighbour for God’s sake, not
regarding what they themselves might get out of him, but only
what God might use and enjoy.’

Today, instead, she said, many of the shepherds are selfish,
venal, impious, friends of the devil more than of God, exploiting
their sacred office for the sake of rich gains. The church has
become a market: ‘They love with a mercenary love, they love
themselves for their own sakes, and God for their own sakes, and
their neighbours for their own sakes; they abound so much in
this perverse love—which should rather be called mortal hatred,
since death comes of it (alas! I say it weeping!)—that they do not
stop at corruption, nor hesitate to buy and sell the grace of the
Holy Spirit. They see the robbers who steal the honour of God,
and they let them steal, alas! and do not hang them as a punish¬
ment; they see the infernal wolf bearing the sheep away, and shut
their eyes so as not to see him.’ This bitter assertion leads her on
to preach with even greater urgency that man must try to con¬
form to Christ, and this can only be done through charity.

Bishop Ricasoh must have been rather faint-hearted, for
Catherine begs him earnestly: ‘Draw near to this sweet mother
Charity, who will take from you all fear and narrowness of heart,
and give you strength and breadth and freedom of heart, strength¬
ened and made one with God, one with Him because God is
charity and he who is in charity is in God, and God in him’. Her
own heart was so full of love that she could not imagine a Chris¬
tian, and especially a minister of God, as being without charity,
because, as she wrote to Sano di Maco: ‘Love is not without faith,
nor faith without hope’, since ‘Man has no faith or hope except in
what he loves’. The fortunate mortal who possesses all three has
‘three columns that hold and guard the rock of our soul, so that
no wind of temptation, no injurious words or flatteries of
creatures, or earthly love—not even of bride or children—can
bring it to the ground; in all these things he shall be supported by
these true columns’. Christ Himself suffered the torment of the
Cross because He loved; else had it been impossible; ‘neither nail
nor cross nor stone could have held God Man bound to the Cross,
if His love for man had not held Him there’. Through love we

THE STIGMATA

169

know ourselves to be wanderers and pilgrims here below, weak
and therefore in need of support; and what support can be better
than the Cross, which will bear us through all storms into a sure
haven ? Is it not love that makes us seek and find in the life beyond
‘the bed of divine truth, whereon the soul may rest and sleep’?
That is why charity must be welcomed with joy; that is why ‘I
invite you to enter a peaceful sea, through this most powerful
charity, this deep sea of love’.

Catherine had used this image of a peaceful sea before, but it
had been a formal or literary figure of speech, whose full meaning
had been as yet unknown to her. Now, at Pisa, she had seen the
sea, and reflected upon it; in fact, she had been profoundly moved.
She wrote: ‘This is new to me now—not that the sea is new, but
it is new to me in the feelings of my heart’, so that St John’s ‘God
is love’ could from that time on be conceived only as a deep sea.
God, love, the sea are three terms that become bound up together
in her soul, and merge into one inspiring and stirring conception.

Among the many and growing cares that kept her busy at Pisa
she did not forget the needs of her beloved nuns of Montepulciano,
and she begged Bishop Ricasoli for alms for them, and asked Fra
Bartolomeo Dominici to procure help for them from Sodcrini. In
her letter to Fra Bartolomeo she also showed her anxious expecta¬
tion of the Pope’s return to Italy: ‘Our Christ-on-earth comes
soon, from what I hear; therefore I beg and constrain you to come
as soon as you can’. She expected this event in the immediate
future. Had not the Pope accepted the two galleys that the Pisans
had offered him that year? She was already hoping to see the Pope
very soon and speak to him of the Crusade, so dear to them both,
which she was preaching so zealously.

★ ★ ★

As soon as the news got about in Tuscany that the Cardinal
Legate, Guillaume de Nocllet, had at Bologna, on June 4th,
1375, signed a year’s truce with the Visconti, and that therefore
the English mercenaries, commanded by Sir John Hawkwood
(Giovanni Acuto) had been dismissed, there was widespread
apprehension in Florence because of the truce itself, and in the
other cities because of the dismissal of the Company. Pisa was
M

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

170

particularly frightened, because Hawkwood still had outstanding
debts to collect there, and because the Pisans ‘had not kept their
promise to give him a castle’. They feared the Company might
attack the city. It was a year of grave famine for Pisa; an invasion
of mercenary soldiers might reduce them all to starvation. More¬
over, the Republic was impoverished, and could not scrape
together die gold that Hawkwood would certainly claim. Not
the rulers only but all the citizens were terrified. Tlie records of
die English Company in recent years, even when it had wintered
with them on friendly terms, were of evil augury for the Pisans.
Probably Villani and Sozomeno exaggerate when they describe
the moral and material losses caused to the Pisans by Hawkwood’s
Company in 1363, but there must be a groundwork of truth in
their account, because naturally a band of soldiers, especially if
mercenaries, tries to get all it can even out of a friendly state—
gold, women, provisions. And the conduct of the Company in
1369, while on friendly terms with Pisa, had certainly been
reprehensible; in fact, it had indulged in ‘its favourite occupation
of looting the territory, stealing com and cattle, putting the
peasants to flight, ravaging, destroying and burning’.

Naturally, the citizens were in anguished suspense under this
new threat of seeing their countryside ravaged, their women dis¬
honoured and their houses destroyed. Therefore the rulers of the
Republic tried to strengthen their bonds of friendship with
Florence, asking for her help, and the two cities sent their respec¬
tive ambassadors together to Hawkwood’s headquarters in
Bologna, in the hope of averting the imminent danger. But
Hawkwood would have nothing to do with general pacts; he
insisted on treating with every Tuscan city separately. This was
bad news for Gambacorta, and so the citizens of Pisa lived in fear
of the coming invasion of the English Company. The onslaught
came very soon. Sardo, the Pisan envoy at Hawkwood’s head¬
quarters at Bologna, tells us in his ‘Cronica Pisana’ that it came
on June 28th, but it may have been earlier. In an anonymous
‘Cronica’ we hear that soldiers of the English Company appeared
in the Pisan countryside on June 25th, and we presume that
some detachments of the Company entered Tuscany in advance
of the main body, and ravaged and destroyed while they awaited
the arrival of their Captain who, with the pick of his troops, came

THE STIGMATA

171

rapidly down through Prato, and reached Pisan territory about
June 28th.

In those days of suspense Catherine shared the anxiety of the
Pisans and, animated by her constant desire to help the afflicted,
she tried to find some way of being useful to them in this predica¬
ment. By the people of that age a Saint was regarded as an all-
powerful being who, through spiritual contact with God, could
find remedies for even the worst state of tilings here on earth. The
prayers of God’s friends had measureless power to convert con¬
sciences, transform material substances, or alter the course of
events. So in moments of general panic they invoked a miracle,
and prayed to afl the Saints, living and dead, imploring them to
arrest the course of history, or even to reverse it. We do not know
whether they begged Catherine to pray to God for the safety of
the Republic, and also to intercede with Hawkwood to beg him
to spare the Pisan countryside further ravage and looting. In any
case, out of Christian charity, she determined to seek contact with
the Condottiero. Gambacorta himself may have encouraged her
to do so, and Fra Raimondo may have given his approval, but
when we read Catherine’s letter to Hawkwood, in which she
presented and recommended Fra Raimondo da Capua, who was
to be the interpreter not only of her own wishes, but also of those
of Gambacorta and the citizens of Pisa, we feel that it is the spirit
of charity, and not a political purpose, that moves her to write.

She was not familiar with the various political motives of that
time, nor did she know the mind of Hawkwood. She had certainly
heard him spoken of with fear, and sometimes with terror, when
he was drawing near to Siena to impose the payment of thousands
of florins, or to spoil the fertile countryside; and she may have
known of his constant interventions in the affairs of Tuscany and
of Italy, and of the services he had rendered to the Papacy; just as
she had heard of some of his most resounding victories—but it
certainly never entered her head that he was an instrument in the
hands of the Cardinal Legate, Guillaume de Noellet, whose inten¬
tion was to make use of him to hold the threatening anti-Papal
power of Florence in check. If she had known this, she would
have justified Hawkwood’s conduct, even if she did not approve
of it, as being in conformity with ecclesiastical policy. But even
Fra Raimondo himself failed to see the real meaning of events; he

1 72 my SERVANT CATHERINE

also judged of these as they appeared to the minds of the people

of Pisa.

The danger was certainly great for everyone, and Catherine
felt it as such, and wished to avert it. The English Condottiero,
although apparently implacable, had a soul hke other men, open
to hatred and cruelty, certainly, but also capable of love and pity.
Had he not suffered enough in his life as a soldier of fortune, and
could he not now therefore be softened and converted by good
Christian words? So she wrote to him: ‘O dearest and sweetest
brother in Christ Jesus, would it not be well for you to think a
little of yourself, and consider what pains and hardships you have
suffered in the service and pay of the devil?’ (Here we seem to
catch an echo of the popular judgment on Captains of Com¬
panies.) Catherine had heard it said that John Hawkwood had
promised the Pope to go and fight for Christ in the Holy Land;
why should she not remind him of this? ‘Now my soul desires
that you shall change over and take up the pay and the Cross of
Christ Crucified, you and all your followers and companions;
so that you may be a Company of Christ, and fight against the
infidel dogs that hold our holy place, where the sweet Primal
Truth dwelt and suffered anguish and death for us.’ The Crusade
was now preparing; why did he, a Christian, fight and persecute
other Christians, ‘members bound together in the body of Holy
Church’ ? He had promised to be a Crusader. Why did he still
hesitate? Why wage war in this land? Now was the time ‘to seek
after virtue’. He should leave these Pisan folk in peace, and prepare
to fight for Christ, thus showing himself ‘a manly and true
knight’.

Fra Raimondo, the bearer of the letter, may have been told to
elaborate the chief points, and persuade the Captain to embark for
the Holy Land, thus leaving the Pisan Republic in peace. No docu¬
ment tells us of this, but from the letter of the Sienese Ambassadors
to their Signoria, on June 27th, we learn that Fra Raimondo
was accompanied by a certain Borgognoni and a Knight, both
clothed as Gesuates; and since Borgognoni ‘had been a man of
evil life, and was very clever at negotiation’, it is natural to sup¬
pose that he was added as a companion to Fra Raimondo in the
hope of agreeing with Hawkwood on some definite arrangement
about Pisa. The mission, however, failed. It is true that we find

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173

affixed to Catherine’s letter of presentation a note affirming that
Fra Raimondo, before leaving the camp, ‘received from all the
officers and from the said Messer Giovanni, a solemn promise on
the Blessed Sacrament that they should go away, and notwith¬
standing this he had made them write it also in their own hand
and seal it with their seals’—but all this is simply a gesture of
chivalrous courtesy towards a friar and a woman known as a
Saint. In actual fact, the English Company remained near Pisa,
looting and devastating, and Hawkwood never had the slightest
intention of going on a Crusade. Perhaps he smiled good-
naturedly on reading Catherine’s frank, ingenuous letter, and
thought with a certain envy of the simplicity of religious souls.
A captain’s business was a very different kettle of fish, and pledges
to a Company could not be honoured without funds. He had no
pity for the Pisans; he made their envoy wait till July 2nd,
and then came to an agreement with Maccaione and Aghata by
which the Republic was to pay 30,500 florins, 2,500 to be paid
in one day to his chief lieutenants, 12,500 within ten days, and the
rest later. ‘The English abstained from burning and taking
prisoners and slaves, but not from other depredations, until they
passed on to Volterra’, towards July 8th, as we learn from
Temple-Leader, who attributes such restraint to the prompt pay¬
ment made by the Pisans. It would, however, be reasonable to
suppose that a slight attenuation of his demands, and the relatively
good behaviour of his soldiery, were due to Catherine’s letter,
which probably led Hawkwood to reflect that there are some
enviable religious souls in the world.

★ ★ ★

After having arranged with Fra Raimondo about his visit to
John Hawkwood, and dictated his letter of presentation and
recommendation, it seems probable that Catherine returned to
Siena at least for some days. There is no certainty of this, but some
indications suggest it, and the editor of the recent complete
collection of Catherine’s letters, Duprc-Thescider, is inclined to
believe that towards the end of June 1375 Catherine was again in
Siena. From her native town she wrote the most human and
perhaps the most beautiful of her letters. This is not the place to

174

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

re-examine the events and dates to which this letter to Fra Rai-
mondo refers, nor can we precisely identify Niccolo di Toldo—
the young noble of Perugia whose condemnation on June 4th,
1375, aroused many protests, including one from the Cardinal
Legate of Perugia, Gerard du Puy—as the youth sentenced to
death, with whom Catherine was so intimately concerned. In
truth, for our study of Catherine’s soul and apostolate, these details
have very little significance; what matters is the event itself, with
its rarely delicate and personal colouring, which eluded Fawtier
completely, so that he cast a doubt over the whole episode—thus
showing a lack of understanding of one of the most salient traits
in all Catherine’s life. If the event itself is undeniable, so also is the
testimony of Fra Tommaso da Siena, who tells us he was present
himself at the execution; and that the name of the man executed
was Niccolo di Toldo. He gives no special prominence to this
detail, but recounts it, in the ‘Leggenda Minore‘, with the same
fidelity as when he relates the other miracles wrought by Catherine,
amongst which he quite frankly includes this one. If we fmd him
guilty of exaggeration in the Processo it is because there he affects
a more solemn and elevated style, and so becomes bombastic and
fatuous. In this case the fact that most arouses our own sympathy
is that a young man was condemned to death for having merely
spoken slightingly of the Government. Our imagination is
aroused, and the youth at once acquires almost a tragic or heroic
character—but Tommaso da Siena, like all the Sienese of his age,
did not attach much importance to this; in fact he only mentions
it in passing: Tor some words he had incautiously uttered, about
the State, he had been sentenced to execution’. This phrase might
have been deliberately cast into an aside, so to speak, by a con¬
summate writer, but not by Fra Tommaso; from all we know
about his thought and phrasing, we deduce that in the ‘Leggenda
Minore’ he related what he knew, filling up gaps left by Fra
Raimondo in the ‘Leggenda Maggiorc’, and adding any other
information about Catherine that he thought might be of interest.
He is more concerned with events than with names, and although
names arc necessary to his account, they have no personal interest
for him; he might just as easily have given any other name, but
Niccolo di Toldo, as far as his knowledge went, was the hero of
this drama. An impartial examination of the existing documents

THE STIGMATA 175

gives us reasonable grounds for supposing that the condemned
man, whose soul Catherine saved, and Niccolo di Toldo, were
one and the same man.

But let us turn to the letter Catherine wrote to Fra Raimondo
da Capua, the fundamental document from which Fra Tommaso
and others took their material for their own accounts.

Catherine went to visit a condemned man, whose case was not
unknown to Fra Raimondo. ‘I went to visit him whom you
know.’ Finding him disconsolate, agitated and full of wrath, she
pitied him profoundly and began to explain to him the nothing¬
ness of this hfe and the immensity of the love of God. She spoke
as one inspired. Something new was bom in the condemned
man’s heart; he was secretly moved, first by a revulsion of feeling,
then by a strange sense of well-being. His wrath subsided, his
rebellious thoughts grew calmer, his distress was soothed. Even
his fear of approaching death lessened, and he felt hke a child held
in wondering admiration in a world of enchantment. He forgot
his natural attachment to life, and responded to a strange elusive
power that was working in him. He was held fast in Catherine’s
spell. Gradually love rose in his heart like a radiant dawn; he was
transformed. As he listened to her words they seemed to drop
glittering to the depths of his soul; little by little he yielded to the
overwhelming flow of love. Catherine became his whole world;
through her alone he wished to love God; ‘the measureless and
passionate goodness of God led him sweetly on, creating in him
so much affection and love in the desire of me in God, that he
could no longer stay without Him, and said: “Remain with me,
and do not forsake me, and so all must needs go well with me,
and I shall die content”, and he held his head against my breast.’

The day for execution came; the condemned man confessed,
heard Mass, received Holy Communion—how long since he had
last received it! Catherine gazed at him with joy; she thought of
the blood that he would soon shed, and of her own blood that she
longed to shed for Christ; she was almost intoxicated with joy:
‘Take comfort, my sweet brother, for sopn we shall be at the
marriage feast’. He wanted her to be near him in the last moments
of his life, and she promised to go before him and await him there
at the place of execution. This promise filled him with joy, and
he turned to Catherine, saying: ‘Will the sweetness of my heart

I76 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

await me at the place of execution? I shall go there joyful and
strong, and it will seem to me a thousand years before I come,
thinking that you arc waiting for me there.’ Here was a miracle
of transubstantiation indeed, a miracle of love, human and divine.
Catherine was jubilant; she went before him to the place of
execution, where, without heeding the crowd that had gathered
there, she knelt down before the block and prayed. Then she
stretched herself out on the block, as if to feel the anguish and the
hope of the man who was shortly to pass out from this life at the
hands of the executioner. She invoked Christ and Mary, and
prayed that she might feel the power of God operating, not only
in her, but also, and mightily, in him. He would be there in a
moment; she wanted him to be able to offer himself tranquilly for
the terrible sacrifice. She prayed for light, peace, and serenity for
him; she freed herself from the world of the senses, soared aloft,
reached the divine, begged, implored, strove to obtain this boon.
And then ‘he came, like a meek lamb, and seeing me began to
laugh with joy, and wanted me to make the sign of the Cross over
him. When I had done this, I said: “Now to the wedding, sweet
brother of mine, for soon you will be in eternal life”. He laid
himself down very meekly, and I stretched out his neck and bent
over him to remind him of the Blood of the Lamb; he said only:
“Jesus” and “Catherine”, and as he uttered these names I received
his head in my hands, closing my eyes in the divine goodness and
saying: “I will”.’

★ ★ ★

In July 1375 Catherine, again in Pisa, was full of fervour for the
Crusade. Her enthusiasm was warlike; she demanded a struggle
to the death against the infidel, and a generous spilling of blood.
Blood excited her strangely; she cried out at the mere thought of
it, as if some primaeval instinct were thus satisfied. Yet her desire
for blood was not morbid, nor was it a Bacchic fury. Blood was
for her the symbol of Christ; it purified and redeemed. It is for us
disconcerting to read: ‘I desire blood, and in blood I slake, and
shall slake, my soul’. The expression is crude, and it would be
cruel if blood were not for her the image of Christ, and therefore
full of cleansing and sublimating power. In fact, for Catherine it

THE STIGMATA

177

signified dedication, sacrifice, renewal, because through the Sacred
Blood are destroyed ‘man’s perverse love for himself’, and every
other servile love, and in it are found truth and light. It is the
Blood that melts all coldness and imparts grace; we feel it throb¬
bing when we contemplate Christ on the Cross. It is Blood that
flows eternally in heaven and on earth, its warmth producing life.
In no way does it pervert or darken the soul, but induces it to
love, being itself the fruit of love, and teaches a serene and just
contemplation of mankind and the world. Even when Catherine
is aware of the odour of real blood, this is so spiritualised in her
thought that it gives her a sense of interior peace. When, after
the execution of Niccolo, she writes that her soul ‘rested in peace
and quiet, in such an odour of blood that I could not bear to rid
myself of the stains of his blood, that had fallen upon me’, it is
because she firmly believes that the blood shed by a Christian in a
state of grace acquires a supernatural power, and is mingled with
that of the martyrs, and with Christ’s own Blood, to build up the
temple of God on earth. So, in Siena, receiving the dead man’s
severed head in her lap, she asserts: ‘I believe the first stone of the
Temple has already been laid’. The idea of the Crusade was fixed
in her mind, and she was sure that the blood spilled like red gems
upon her white habit was a foretaste, so to speak, of the blood that
would soon be shed in the East by Christians fighting against the
infidels. Simone da Cascia puts it crudely when he says that she
rejoiced when she saw her white robe sprayed with blood, but
this crudeness is softened when we bear in mind the symbolic
meaning she attached to blood. And this helps us also to overcome
our dismay when we read the many passages of effusive joy that
the idea of blood suggests to her.

★ ★ ★

The Curia at Avignon was well aware of the great danger which
the Mahomedan power represented for Christendom, and saw the
necessity of a Crusade, but was uncertain about the degree of
enthusiasm which such a Crusade might arouse. Before, therefore,
undertaking such a grave and hazardous task, it was necessary to
ascertain the intentions of the faithful with regard to the ‘holy

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

178

expedition’, and to try immediately to obtain numerous promises
of help from men who would most solemnly declare themselves
ready to fight for the cause of Christ, or willing to give large sums
towards the cost of the expedition. Gregory XI could only declare
the Crusade if he were sure of having at his disposal thousands
upon thousands of enthusiastic Crusaders, and abundant means.

‘Nos enim si viderimus in hac parte multitudinem populi christiani et
facultates sufficientes, aliaque opportune concurrere , indicemus passagium
generate vet particular si et prout reputabimus expedire , et consuetam
indulgentiam, gratiam et privilegia concedemus .’ In these lines of the
Papal Bull of July 1st, 1375, given at Villanova of Avignon,
we clearly see that Gregory, although he desired the Crusade
himself, was doubtful of the consent of Europe, and therefore
invited the religious Orders and the Papal representatives to direct
propaganda in favour of the expedition, so as to be able, later on,
and according to the results obtained, to decide for or against the
undertaking. This suggests that the plan of the Crusade had
received only a partial welcome in the Church.

Catherine heard of this Bull while in Pisa, for it had been sent
directly to Fra Raimondo da Capua, and to the Dominican and
Franciscan Provincials. She did not linger over a careful study of
its spirit or letter, but took it at once as the announcement of a
great and imminent event, and rejoiced accordingly. The dream
of so many years seemed about to be realised. The Blood shed by
Christ now claimed the blood of the faithful. Now was the time
to suffer, fight and die. There was not a moment to be lost—it
was necessary to run, to fly to the nuptials, and atone for Blood
with blood. The Crusade was about to become a reality, before
her longing eyes. There, in Pisa with Fra Raimondo, she began
an intense and active propaganda, writing to queens, prelates,
highly placed personages, acquaintances, friends and fellow Ter-
tiaries, inviting all to go overseas. Men in the height of their
strength must enlist as warriors, the affluent must give their
wealth to the sacred cause, she herself and her own friends, in a
‘happy band’, must run to unite themselves to the Word of God!
‘And I invite you all to these nuptials, that is, to shed your blood
for Him, as He shed His for you; that is, I invite you all to the
Holy Sepulchre, there to offer up your lives for Him.’

Meanwhile, in Pisa, Fra Raimondo expounded, discussed and

THE STIGMATA 179

explained, but the spirit that inspired him was Catherine’s. From
the letter she wrote to Bishop Ricasoli (Letter XXXVII in the
Dupre-Theseider edition) we learn of Fra Raimondo’s busy days,
spent dealing with questions of the Crusade with the nobles who
came to see him, and from her letters written during the summer
of 1375 we see with what zeal, enthusiasm and unswerving con¬
fidence she worked on men’s consciences, now gently, now with
violence, urging great and humble alike to join in the holy
expedition.

Her letters written at this time are full of the tact and finesse so
often found among the simple folk of Tuscany. First she develops
a train of thought of particular interest for the purpose she has
determined on. She begins by asserting spiritual truths that are of
general application, then follows this up with a meditation on the
worthlessness of human nature, that may, nevertheless, acquire
worth when it is plunged into Christ. We ourselves are unworthy
and despicable, but if we sacrifice our lives for our Saviour, we
become rich and great in virtue. We must therefore defy our
natural cowardice and cast our bodies aside so that our souls may
triumph. In very truth, all that counts is the soul, saved and united
to Christ; human life becomes real life only when it is spent in
the cause of God. The divine voice calls to men to enlist in a great
undertaking, one that puts to the test the intensity of our Christian
love. Let us answer the call at once; now is the time for the faithful
to show that they have firm intentions, daring and generosity.
The voice of Christ rings out imperatively: let Him not appeal in
vain, lest the future of Christendom be indeed dark. The Crusade
is now being prepared. Christ-on-carth is about to proclaim it,
and wishes to know who are to be the Crusaders, the heroes of the
Church, the future martyrs. Blood is required, let blood be given!
Is it not a duty for all to enlist in the Redeemer’s army?

Thus, with appeals now delicate, now stern, often eloquent,
always rousing and affecting, sometimes subtle, sometimes
ingenuous, but always sincere and frank, she reached her initial
and fundamental objective: the Crusade. Often it was merely
referred to in two or three lines in a long letter; but even when
introduced almost as an aside, it crept into her correspondent’s
mind. In this way, with tact and wisdom, she furthered the pur¬
pose that lay so near her heart. She rejoiced at every affirmative

x 8o my SERVANT CATHERINE

answer she received; the waters were being moved around her,
her friends had taken the cause to heart; she was receiving sig¬
nificant promises of help. ‘Know that this Friar Jacomo, whom
we sent to the Governor of Sardinia, with a letter containing news
of this holy expedition, has graciously replied to me that he
wishes to come himself in person, and will provide, for two years,
ten galleys and a thousand knights with three thousand foot-
soldiers and six hundred crossbowmen. Know, moreover, that
Genoa is all astir, offering him men and money.’ These are minor
details for us, onlookers so far removed in the centuries, and they
may have been of slight importance for the Holy See, but for
Catherine they were events of primary significance, and led her
to suppose the Crusade was already almost in being. ‘The time
seems shortening, because of the willingness of the creatures.’
These testimonies of consent gave her such delight that she felt as
if all corporeal bonds were broken and she were free to live in the
infinite. ‘I feel as if my soul, at the very thought, were freeing
itself from my body’, she exclaimed, writing to her friend William
of Fleetc, but she did not let this exultation lessen her energy or
restrict her activity. ‘Now let us run, my children, and brethren
in Jesus Christ, let us stretch forth our sweet and loving desires,
constraining and praying the divine goodness to make us soon
worthy; and here it behoves us to be guilty of no negligence; but
to be always pressing on, and exhorting others to do the same.’
To Don Giovanni de’ Sabbatini she wrote, in a burst of enthusi¬
asm: ‘O how blessed will be my soul, when I see you and the
others running like men in love, to give their lives away, with not
a glance behind!’

Her joy knows no bounds when she receives an affectionate
reply from the Queen of Naples, Giovanna d’Anjou. She writes
to her at once, on August 4th, 1375, to express her delight. The
Queen of Naples is ready ‘to give her substance and her life for the
glory of Christ’s name’. What a lofty and inspiring example! No
time must be lost; the Queen must inform the Pope of her
intention, and thus he will see the necessity of declaring the Crusade
without delay, and she will find the Christians ‘most willing’ to
follow her. The Holy Spirit has inspired her decision; she must
make full use of it, and not draw back now, for any reason. In
fact, why should she not set herself at the head of the holy

THE STIGMATA. l8l

expedition? ‘As you have the title of Queen of Jerusalem, so may
you be head and promoter of this Crusade, so that the holy place
may no longer be possessed by those base infidels, but taken into
honourable possession by Christians, taken by you as your own .’
This exhortation was evidently given on the spur of the moment.
Catherine can hardly have seriously thought of setting Giovanna
of Anjou at the head of the Crusade. Even if the thought occurred
to her, surely she should have realised the reception such a pro¬
posal would have had in the Curia, and at the various princely
courts of Europe? But Catherine was not politically minded and
therefore never asked herself such questions. She thought only of
her immediate purpose. Among the great ones who had answered
her appeal, there was no one greater than Giovanna; hence her
proposal to give her the leadership of the Crusade, without re¬
flecting whether this was feasible or not. She may have been
pleased to find a woman, of such importance in the courts of
Europe, who in that moment gave signs of having more sym¬
pathy, decision and daring than the other princes, and showed
herself a warlike Christian, and therefore worthy to lead the
expedition. But, in any case, Catherine’s proposal was neither well
thought out nor definitive. Probably, if Queen Elizabeth of Hun¬
gary, to whom she also wrote urging her to take part in the
Crusade with her son Louis, had replied with warm consent, she
would not have hesitated to acknowledge Louis of Hungary as
leader of the expedition, as Gregory XI had done two years before.

A few weeks later, Catherine wrote again to the Queen of
Naples, in a rather different tone; perhaps she had heard the
reports and criticisms current in Italy about the Queen’s moral
conduct, or perhaps she had begun to doubt the sincerity of her
fervour, not only for the Crusade, but also for the Church. She
now insisted, very openly and pressingly, on the need for ‘quelling
the senses’, and for ‘silencing sensuality’, perhaps an indication
that she had now received information, previously unknown to
her, about the Queen’s sensual nature. The heartfelt appeal she
now made to Giovanna, to come to the help of the Church with
wealth, and men, and advice, suggests a slight apprehension about
her perseverance in her intentions, and was perhaps an attempt to
strengthen her loyalty. New events of great importance for Italy,
for the Papacy, and therefore for Catherine, were now at hand.

1 82 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

Catherine heard of these happenings from the people she met
every day, and from the various Religious who visited her, or
whom she visited, particularly from the Dominicans who were
attentive observers of the politics of the Papacy, and of the other
Italian states. Pietro Gambacorta also probably gave her precise
information, and was not averse to hearing the Saint’s counsels
and general reflections on the course of human events. After
June 1375 came wretched days for Pisa. After Hawkwood’s
unwelcome visit, which impoverished the city financially, there
arrived, on July 22nd, a letter from the Florentines informing
Pietro Gambacorta that a certain Abbot, sub nomine pastorum
ecclesiae perjidia solita , backed by the English Company which was
in the Pope’s pay, was plotting against his life, and the order of
the city. The warning was false, but at the time it gave rise to
anxiety and distrust, and perturbed Gambacorta greatly. Two
days later Florence announced that she had entered into a league
with Bemabo Visconti, always feared and opposed by the Pisans;
on July 28th Florence declared that Galeazzo Visconti also had
joined the league. This announcement too was false, but was
believed at that time, and new fears, uncertainties and griefs were
aroused by the thought of so powerful an alliance. Moreover,
Florence invited the other Italian cities, and especially those of
Tuscany, to join the new league—an invitation that implied the
threat of force to compel them to come in. The anti-Papal league
completely upset the balance of power in the Italian states that
had lasted since 1371, that is, all the time that they had been loyal
to the Church, a balance that had meant well-being, security and
peace for Pisa. This upheaval would certainly be calamitous.
Gambacorta was much perturbed by all this because he wanted to
remain a faithful ally both to the Church and to Florence. How
could he, without a plausible reason, oppose cither of these two
powers? All his foreign policy had until then been based on this
‘sincere adherence to the Florence-Church league in opposition to
the Visconti forces that were trying to overrun Tuscany’. How
could he make such a moral and political volte face without grave
danger for the Republic? The Florentine rulers were upsetting all
his plans for peace. Not only was his own ideal of harmony
between states preferable for the good of the whole of Tuscany,
but a war against the Pope—and if events took their course such

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183

seemed inevitable—would bring ruin to many Italian cities, and
economic disaster to Pisa, if she were involved in it, with, in all
probability, the loss of her independence. Gambacorta and the
rulers of Pisa spent days of anguished suspense.

When Catherine learnt that Florence had set herself at the head
of a league against the Church, she was amazed and grieved, but
her grief was different from that of the rulers of the Pisan Repub¬
lic. The behaviour of the Florentine angered her, but not for
political reasons; she did not care about preserving a balance of
power, or grieve for the collapse of political ideals. She suffered
for a human and religious motive, because she saw that the Floren¬
tine rulers were disturbing the tranquil piety of the Tuscan people,
were failing in respect and devotion to the Church, and were in
revolt against their spiritual Father. She did not enquire about the
immediate or remote reasons that had induced Florence to make
war against the Church, nor did she make a distinction—so diffi¬
cult for a fervent Christian of her time—between the temporal or
spiritual power, a distinction that was just beginning to dawn in
the minds of some Florentines. For her all schemes for the expan¬
sion and strengthening of the State, and for its supremacy at the
expense of the Church, were absurd and wicked; a Christian
government that sought to arouse hatred of the Papacy was
inconceivable, since the Church represented absolute and eternal
values and the salvation of peoples; whoever cut himself off from
her fell sick, and whoever turned against her became a rotten
member. True Christians were obedient and devoted; they always
followed their Mother the Church, came to her help when she
was in danger, and defended her in her need. Since threats and
dangers were now menacing her, it was more than ever their duty
to assist her. Rebellion was contagious, and therefore princes and
peoples should be forewarned. She wrote to Queen Giovanna of
Naples: ‘A child is really stupid and mad if he will not come to his
mother’s help when the rotten member turns against her. I want
you to be the faithful daughter, always eager to assist your mother.*
The mother is the Church, the rotten member Florence.

But the news Catherine received became more and more dis¬
concerting; on August 14th, in Florence, had been set up the
Government of the Eight, who were to direct the future war
against the Church. ‘All men of ripe age and judgment, already

1 84 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

experienced in the exercise of other important offices of the
Republic, sincere patriots, all of one mind in hating the tyranny
of the captains of the political parties; for all these reasons, although
they were at first elected for one year only, they were later con¬
firmed in office for the duration of the Government; and as
popular enthusiasm had nicknamed them the eight Saints, so this
name was given to the war they directed’, Gherardi tells us, giving
the names of the eight Magistrates.

The setting up of this Government in Florence must have been
a severe blow for the Pisans, because it destroyed their last hope
of avoiding a dreaded war. When Catherine heard of it, she was
terribly depressed, and wrote: ‘Now is the time for crying and
weeping, and grieving; this happens in our time, my son, because
the bride of Christ is persecuted by Christians, false and rotten
members’. Now all must pray God insistently, weeping and
sighing, imploring Him ‘not to despise the tears and sweat poured
out before His countenance’.

However, even in the midst of such dire events and disquieting
news, Catherine neither lost her inner serenity nor feared for the
future. If persecution came, God had permitted it, and therefore
there was need of it. Moreover, there was much evil in the
Church, and a certain purification would be useful. So she turned
her gaze from a negative vision of the present and future, and
turned towards the positive and actual. Poetry as fresh as the
smile drat lightens a child’s face after tears sprang from her heart:
‘My soul rejoices and is glad, because there amid the thorns is the
fragrance of the rose that is to be’. She can lose heart only for a
moment; she knows that God is with the just, with His Church.
She has startling proof of this as soon as she thinks of the results
already obtained in favour of the Crusade—so many people have
written to her and declared their readiness to sacrifice themselves
and their possessions to win back for the Church the sepulchre of
Christ! There is no room for doubt, only for joy; grief is there,
to be sure, and such as to pierce the soul, but there are joys also,
and these surpass all pain. ‘Again, I rejoice and exult at the sweet
results that have been brought about in Christ-on-earth, because
of the holy expedition, and I rejoice again at what has been done,
is being done, and shall be done, through grace divine.’

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185

For some months after this July, Catherine was a little less
ardent in preaching the Crusade, although the ideal remained
constantly in her mind. In the letters of this period that have come
down to us, written to her disciples and friends, she hardly refers
to it again. She is absorbed in other preoccupations and duties.
The apparent inevitability of war between Florence and the
Papacy, the formidable threat to the Church presented by the
Florentine pact with the Visconti, the moral and spiritual causes
of what might develop into a general catastrophe, the need for
the Pope’s return to Rome, her own duty to the Church in this
crisis—all these questions were pressing upon her and absorbing
all her energies.

Meanwhile, she undertook diplomatic missions to Pisa and
Lucca, cared tirelessly for the sick and needy, conversed with folk
in high office, and visited the Carthusian monasteries of Calci and
Gorgona. Nevertheless, after speaking of the Crusade with the
Ambassador of the Queen of Cyprus, she could not restrain her
joy and wrote to her Tertiaries: ‘The affairs of the expedition
prosper more and more, and the glory of God increases every
day’. As soon as she heard that the Giovanniti were preparing an
expedition overseas her old fervour returned, and she wrote to
the Count ofMonna Agnola and his companions: ‘Now I believe
that God is inviting you to pursue and achieve your own perfec¬
tion, giving you such a hunger for the salvation of the infidels.
Mcthinks he wants you to be the first warriors to confront them,
since this is now the beginning of the holy expedition. The Holy
Father first sends out the holy militia of the Church, and then
whoever may wish to follow them.’

We find an outburst of fervour in the letter she wrote to
Bartolomeo Smeducci di San Severino, full of her anguished
realisation of the corruption of the clergy. Already, in her letter
to Bishop Ricasoli, some months earlier, she had spoken of
corruption amongst the priests; now her judgment is more
searching and more precise. Most probably the incessant propa¬
ganda of the Florentines against the Court of Avignon and the
ecclesiastics in general, and the subtlety and skill with which they
exposed the degeneration of the Church, together with the wide¬
spread criticism she must herself have heard of clerical immoral¬
ity, caused her to meditate more insistently on the wounds of
N

1 86 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

Holy Church. Indeed, no one could deny die vices of the clergy.
Immorality, avarice, pride, simony reign ‘in the bride of Christ,
in the prelates who care for nothing but pleasures, honours and
great wealth’, she wrote to Berengario, the Abbot of Lezat, who
had asked for her advice and judgment on the Church. She went
on: ‘The great ecclesiastics think of nothing but eating, and fine
houses and fat horses. Alas! that what Christ purchased on the
wood of the Cross should now be spent on prostitutes!’ Was it to
be wondered at, then, that such behaviour on the part of high
ecclesiastics caused members of the Church to become rotten?
And what was there strange now about the Church being perse¬
cuted ? Was persecution not a logical consequence of the unworthy
behaviour of the leaders ? Even this quarrel between Florence and
the Church was due to the corruption of the clergy. All material
evil was always caused by a spiritual disturbance—therefore it was
necessary to analyse die real causes of the evil, and cure these first
of all. Reform must begin in the highest spheres; if Christian life
could be seen in these restored in all its splendour, then the masses
too would purify their lives, and no one would give further heed
to Florentine propaganda, nor would the children rebel against
their Father, but peace would reign in the whole world under the
rule of Christ-on-earth.

This conception of Church reform became ever clearer to her,
and as she believed that purification must begin from above, she
decided that the Pope must be the first to reform himself. He was
too tender and anxious about his own relatives, and showed too
much gentleness and mercy to the prelates. ‘Too much pity is
very great cruelty.’ He should correct with severity but without
harshness, and root out even the smallest evil.

Justice was needed, for mercy lost its meaning unless it were
based on justice, a loving but not a lax justice, which would not
permit personal advantages at the expense of others, nor act for
the profit of the moment, but for the greatness and welfare of all.
Only by means of justice could the Church fulfil its proper func¬
tion in the world. All must be ordered according to justice.
Therefore, ‘when the time comes for the appointment of priests
and Cardinals, flattery must have no voice in it, nor wealth, nor
simony’. Then, turning more directly to the Abbot of Lezat, the
Apostolic Nunzio in Tuscany, she exhorted him to speak to the

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187

Pope, to persuade him to be severe with himself, with the
Cardinals, Legates, and all the liigh officers of the Church; to
prevent those iniquities that defame the daughter of Christ, and
appoint Cardinals and priests of holy life. ‘Beg him, when you
can, to look for virtue, and a good and holy name in a man. Let
him not look for gentle birth any more than for wealth: it is
virtue that makes a man noble and pleasing to God/

All this reform was certainly imperative, but impossible to
bring about in a short space of time; it was a long and difficult
labour requiring tact, robust energies, and lively sensibility. It was
necessary for a majority in the Church to feel its urgency and
demand it. But that could not happen until the evil had reached
its climax. ‘To remedy this it will be needful to pull everything
down, even to the foundations/

In any case, a crisis was at hand, and the Florentine war against
the Papacy might be the means of arousing the Church to a
knowledge of its own evils and even a means of remedying
them. When she lifted her eyes above the present contingency and
considered the Church in her eternal function, she saw that the
Church was whole; her present state of decadence and impurity
was therefore only temporary. The Church must be and should
be pure.

Of the events of her day Catherine knew only of some par¬
ticular happenings, related sometimes with inexact information,
and mingled with popular rumour and more or less partisan
opinion; but her perceptions were keen and she was able to draw
her own conclusions, based on her own firm religious principles.
She was accustomed to destroy within herself all elements
extraneous to her religious life, and to seek clarity and harmony,
and she applied this method to external life and to history, reduc¬
ing it all to a harmonious and rhythmical process. Thus, what was
painful and tragic became an integrating part of what was joyful
and loving and prepared the triumph of the good. As in the
individual man sin is a sign of weakness, so the agitations of
peoples and the troubles that fall upon them and seem to crush
them serve, in reality, as a means of re-birth.

This clear-sightedness enabled her to understand that the im¬
placable war waged by Florence against the Church was only an
episode, and one that would in the end lead to the strengthening

1 88 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

of the Church in Italy, and its greater glory. Thus, in her sim¬
plicity, she could judge certain events of her own day just as we
can judge them now after so many centuries of history and
criticism. The labour we daily devote to the study of documents
and sources leads us to no better results than those she obtained
by the observance of a few sure and certain principles, and ex¬
pressed, as if by magic, in a few brief words. Her serenity in the
present and hope for the future prevented her from living in fear
of sad, painful and dread events. She knew that although each
event has its own particular significance, nevertheless it plays its
part in the great plan for man's salvation. We may condemn grave
iniquities, and loathe them, yet, nevertheless, we may see that
they are necessary for the unfolding of history. Therefore the
clash of interests and passions left her indifferent, because she saw
all these as details of a cosmic process intended by God. She
suffered and shuddered for the sins of individuals, sometimes
inveighing against them like a figure of tragedy, but before the
unfolding of the universal life of man she showed the immobility
of a Greek statue. This is the two-sided nature of the apostolic
soul, which shares in the individual life and suffers with it, but
observes with indifference the development of the whole vast
process of history.

She is sure that the Church is divine, and must ultimately
triumph, but meanwhile she must not remain inert. She must
collaborate with Providence. Hence the need to combat evil,
which will one day assuredly be conquered, but now is still a
force to be reckoned with, and therefore opposed. For example,
Florence undermines the prestige of the Church, ill-treats priests,
sows distrust and revolt among the peoples subject to the Holy
See, and persistently spreads anti-Papal propaganda; therefore her
efforts must be met and opposed with faith, sincerity, truth,
purity, and a constructive spirit.

Some of the accusations against the clergy are true; this must be
acknowledged and a remedy must be found. It is true that most of
the Papal Legates are French, she says, and yet wield power in our
country, exploiting our cities and impoverishing our people to
their own profit; corruption is rife at the Court of Avignon;
worldliness has taken the place of spirituality; but all these reasons,
and others one might add, do not justify rebellion against the

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189

Church. Not opposition but reform is required. Catherine herself
desires reform and preaches it everywhere. If all would do like¬
wise, instead of stirring up the people and inciting to war, the
clergy would be forced to mend their way of life, and the rulers
of the cities would have to rule with justice for the good of all.
Then Florence would no longer have to send, as a token of
homage to the rebellious cities, red standards with the word
‘Libertas inscribed in silver thereon, for the heart of every Chris¬
tian would bear the word ‘liberty’ written in letters of fire. If
there were even a little love between men, there would be no
revolts. Therefore covetousness, hatred, vanity, sensuality, lust
for power—all these must be destroyed; the Church must be
loved, and the Pope, the father of all, obeyed. Then all would live
in perfect concord. The kingdom of Christ must be extended in
this world, and instead of envy, jealousy and hatred, men must
seek unity and love, and set off like a band of brothers to fight the
infidels.

These were Catherine’s ideas, and she furthered the Papal cause
by propagating them. But she wanted to do still more. She was
then in Pisa, near to Lucca. Both these cities were loyal to the
Pope, but Florence was threatening and flattering them by turns,
endeavouring at all costs to detach them from their allegiance and
include them in the anti-Papal League. She conceived it to be her
duty to speak with the rulers of both Republics, and urge them to
resist the Florentine requests. We have no sure proof that she
received this mission from the Pope, and it seems more probable
that she acted according to her own wish, on the advice of
Raimondo da Capua, or of other Dominican leaders, and perhaps
on that of the Archbishop of Pisa. These prelates must have been
quivering with indignation at the behaviour of the Florentines,
and it would be natural for them to think of sending Catherine,
who was so well known by fame in both these cities, to try to
deter their rulers from joining the League. The results of her
mission were mediocre. Pietro Gambacorta was already on the
Papal side before Catherine treated with him officially. He loved
the Pope, and he loved peace, and had been doing his best to
resist the persistent requests of Florence, his neighbour and ally.
He was determined, at least, to remain neutral between the two
parties. His conversations with Catherine were certainly cordial,

190 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

for he admired her holiness and eloquence. He probably revealed
to her the political difficulties that beset him, informed her of the
most important events of the day, and explained to her his own
plans and aims, based on a general understanding with the Papacy.
He had, in fact, more than once requested Florence to form a
league which might include the Papacy also. It may safely be
concluded that the advice Catherine gave later on to the Pope,
to invite the rebels to make a general peace, was suggested to
her by Gambacorta in these days. It was certainly good advice.
Since August the Pope had been sending Bull after Bull to the
Florentines to explain his own intentions and conduct, to
eliminate misunderstandings, to deny accusations, and recall
them to filial obedience; it would have been a wise, as well as a
daring move, to take the initiative in promoting a real and gen¬
uine peace.

Catherine must have felt reassured by Gambacorta’s words; she
had great confidence in him, and thought him much more
powerful than he really was—so she wrote to the Elders of Lucca
that diey were to have no fear, because ‘the Pisans, your neigh¬
bours, as long as you persevere and remain firm, will never fail
you, but will always help you and defend you, even to the death,
from whoever might seek to harm you. These words reveal her
ignorance of the political and military weakness of the Pisan
Republic, which was, materially speaking, incapable of supporting
Lucca, and also show her ingenuousness with regard to Gamba¬
corta’s position, for he could not afford to come to blows with
Florence. She had interpreted his assurances in an absolute sense,
without realising that the assurances of politicians are always con¬
ditioned by times and circumstances, and are never such as to
pledge the future unconditionally. Catherine thought that Pisa
would court destruction rather than give in to the League. She
presupposed in others her own vigorous character, and imagined
them faithful to their ideals, even at the cost of life itself.

Meanwhile, Gambacorta, quite understandably, while assuring
her of his loyalty to the Pope, sent his ambassadors to Florence to
begin negotiations about joining the League. After ail, he still
hoped for the formation of a general league which should include
the Pope. In acting thus, he was therefore acting with cogency—
a cogency, however, that ended in his giving up his own plan and

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191

joining the League unconditionally, concealing in his heart the
secret hope of reconciling Florence to the Church.

Catherine had less confidence in Lucca. She went there, perhaps
encouraged to do so by Gregory XI’s letter to the Lucchesi of
August 10th, on September 14th or thereabouts, accompanied by
her Dominican directors and disciples; and in Lucca she inspired
with her own zeal a group of Mantellate, and spoke to the Elders
of the City, urging them to resist. She* had no great hopes of
them, knowing their hesitancy and their ambiguous behaviour.
In the letter she wrote to the Elders later on, she made use of
spiritual weapons to try to prevent the Lucchesi from joining the
League, but the Lucchesi were afraid of the crossbowmen of
Florence. She promised them the Pope’s moral support, but what
they needed were a militia and money. Her words were grand
and fine: ‘He is powerful, our gentle God, He will and can keep
us safe from the hands of our enemies, provided that we care for
His honour, and the honour of Holy Church, which is our honour
too—for the soul receives no light but through the Church’. But
what would fine words avail if Lucca were conquered by the
Florentines, and reduced to slavery? That is why the Lucchesi
pointed out to her that the Pope, Head of the Church, gave them
no ‘comfort’, meaning that he sent them no material help, such as
might preserve their safety. If Pisa and Lucca were to fall a prey
to the League, would that not be a worse misfortune for both
cities than if they were to belong to the League?

In fact, Catherine knew little of the political maneouvres and
tricks that the Florentines, on the one hand, and the Pope and his
Legates on the other, were employing to reduce each other’s
fighting capacity, so that her frank, sincere words were sometimes
wasted in causes that were other than she thought. Nevertheless,
her influence on the rulers of Pisa and Lucca was beneficial, if
slight, and may have contributed morally to the fact that the two
Republics held out for several months against the appeal from
Florence. For a certain time her advice was listened to because it
coincided with the interests of the two cities, but later on it was
ignored. Pisa and Lucca joined the anti-Papal League uncon¬
ditionally as soon as they realised that refusal to join would have
dire consequences. But neither city actually rebelled against the
Pope, nor held very closely to Florence. Catherine was disap-

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

192

pointed but not cast down. When about to yield to discourage¬
ment she would hear within her soul the solemn promise: ‘This
sweet and holy bride shall live for ever’. Florence could do no
harm to the Church. The anti-Papal League and the war certainly
presented grave dangers, but they could not destroy what was
eternal, and the Church is eternal.

On the other hand, there were far more threatening evils
already on the horizon—still far away, but soon to be at hand.
Schism itself was imminent. Fra Raimondo asserts that Catherine
always feared it, but his desire to represent her as a prophetess
leads him into exaggeration. Our information all goes to prove
that although Catherine knew that the evils threatening the
Church were growing more powerful, she still had no clear idea
of the possibility of schism.

Fra Raimondo received the news of the revolt of Perugia about
the 22nd of December, 1375. At once, he ran in great distress to
Catherine, who was then staying in a hospice near his monastery,
to give her the sad news, and decide what they should do. He was
upset and agitated at the thought of the dreadful effects these
events might have on the temporal power of the Holy See and on
the prestige of the Church, which was now at stake. He wept
desperately as he related what had happened, and Catherine
listened coldly. All at once she turned to him, saying: ‘It is too
soon to weep—this is nothing but the beginning; what is hap¬
pening now is honey and milk to what will happen later’.
Raimondo was astounded to see her indifference in the face of
such terrible happenings. To him the fall of the temporal power,
which seemed imminent, meant disaster for the Church. States
w T cre defying the Papacy, rebelling against the Holy See, reckless
of excommunications—what could be worse? But Catherine’s
thought were of a loftier order. In those days she was meditating
profoundly on the moral evils of the Church, and considering
how widespread they were, and how ruinous. And since the
corruption of the clergy must be extirpated, she knew already
that a drastic reform would bring about quarrels and revolts in
the Church itself. The thought of real and actual schism was still
far from her mind.

Against a reforming Pope, and God was sure to send one, the
first to revolt would naturally be the Cardinals and high ecclesias-

THE STIGMATA 193

tics, because of their immorality; therefore she could easily fore¬
see that there would ensue ‘a great scandal for all Europe, and the
whole Church of Christ would groan under it’. This for her was
the future danger for Christendom, and before it the importance
of the little Florentine war, and the limited and wavering rebellion
of Central Italy against the Pope, fell into the background.

Fra Raimondo’s amazement passed all bounds; he could not
comprehend her dispassionate way of judging; but she under¬
stood the anxious and disconsolate soul of her director and friend,
and tried to encourage him, pointing out that life is made up of
contrasts: ‘through what is contrary to virtue we acquire virtue’,
from shadows comes forth the light, from death comes life, from
evil good; this is an inevitable law, and just as the soul ‘in adversi¬
ties achieves perfection without knowing it’, so it is also with
states, with the Church, with all mankind. Fra Raimondo is lost
in preoccupations about material things. He must gather his
strength together, re-enter his own soul, and prepare to fight the
evil in the world. He belongs to the militia of Christ: therefore
his task is to save souls, without caring about worldly matters, and
detaching himself from all earthly tics. He has one duty only: to
look to Christ, and work so that ‘the sweet and holy bride of
Christ shall live for ever’ on earth.

Catherine left Pisa to go back to Siena towards the end of 1375.
In her own city she found her Family. To be re-united to them,
surrounded by their affection, able once more to raise and guide
them in the ways of God, gave her joy—but it was a somewhat
narrow field of activity for her now that she was used to dealing
with folk in high position, and giving advice about the affairs and
conduct of states. Moreover, she was unhappy in Siena because
on November 27th the city had joined the anti-Papal League.
These days were therefore days of inner concentration, meditation,
grief, prayer and apostolate.

The conversion of Stefano Maconi occurred about this time.
He was an elegant and accomplished young noble, of the same age
as Catherine, and a boyhood friend of Tominaso da Siena. When
he first met Catherine he took no interest in religion or the Saints.
His character was mild, and he grieved over the feud between his
family and the Tolomei and Rinaldini, and would willingly have
made peace. But the Tolomei and Rinaldini refused to consider

194 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

any peace proposals. Stefano needed affection and was discon¬
solate when it failed him. He was kind and sensitive, and sought
understanding and serenity. He took pleasure in the various forms
of entertainment of that day, and rejoiced in his friendships. His
qualities of practical wisdom, sound judgment, and easy eloquence
brought him success, first in secular office, and, in later life, in
various religious charges. All his life he was very constant in his
loves, and never wavered in loyalty to his relatives, his friends,
Catherine, and the Order of St Bruno, while he consistently
opposed the anti-Popes and the schismatics. When he became
General of the Urbanite Carthusians, ‘he tried to re-establish unity
in his Order’ and in the whole Church. In her letters to him
Catherine often exhorted him to have more manliness and more
ardour of soul; his own letters reveal him as neither a vigorous
writer nor a man of strongly-marked personality; all his thoughts
were pervaded with a certain melancholy, which in the end found
peace in the practice of humility and the love of God.

Until the beginning of 1376 he knew scarcely any tiling about
Catherine. Her fame was generally known in Siena and through¬
out Tuscany, and his friends and acquaintances had certainly
spoken to him of her extraordinary spiritual powers—but he was
not then interested in spiritual greatness. His main preoccupation
was the hatred borne by the Tolomei towards himself and all his
house, and the problem of how to placate it, or seek reconciliation.
He asked his friends for advice and support, but in vain. Finally
someone advised him to go to Catherine, and his friend Pietro
Bellanti, whom Catherine had already reconciled to his own
enemies, offered to take him to sec her. Maconi expected to find a
woman ascetic, quick to judge and rebuke, rigid and scrupulous,
with a forbidding manner. Instead, he found himself talking to a
serene, frank woman, friendly and impulsive, from whom there
seemed to flow a tide of warm affection that engulfed him.
Catherine welcomed him with open arms as if he were a brother
come from a far land, in need of the enthisuasm and the help of a
beloved sister. He was touched and fascinated; he listened rever¬
ently to her words and left her presence rejoicing. She had prom¬
ised him all the peace he desired, and had said she would take all
his trouble upon herself; in return he must confess, become
virtuous, raise himself to God. She asked nothing more of him.

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195

Maconi must have thought to himself that Saints and miracles
were real after all—nevertheless, a slight doubt may have lingered
in his mind. She had made him a joyful promise: could it be
fulfilled? And very soon he had a striking proof of her power.
‘Events proved the truth of the virgin’s words, because, through
her mediation, I made peace with my enemies, who first resisted
with all their might, and then had to yield to Catherine’s will, and
the force of her prayer; one may indeed call it a miraculous peace.’
This was exterior peace, and was not enough for Catherine—not
enough for Maconi, either, for he returned to visit the Saint, and
felt his inner life gradually transformed. Catherine, who had read
his soul and understood the natural goodness of his character,
first begged him to act as her secretary, and later took him with
her to Avignon, and kept him with her in Florence.

I11 1379 he joined her in Rome, and stayed there till her death.
All his life he was devoted to her; it was at the behest of his dear
Mother that he became a Carthusian. He translated the ‘Dialogue’
into Latin, and always remained a loyal Urbanite both as a simple
Carthusian and as General of the Order. Reverently collecting all
Catherine’s letters, and diffusing a knowledge of her various
writings, he did all he could to increase her fame. After her death
his affectionate heart turned to his fellow Caterinati, especially to
Pagliaresi, whose fine poetry he admired. Towards the end of his
life, detaching himself more and more from the things of this
world, he tried to live in communion with Christ, and with his
thoughts fixed on Catherine he longed to be re-united with her.
‘Our Holy Mother waits for us, and calls us, so that we may
arrive quickly, leaving the dead to bury their dead, while in all
virtue we follow Jesus Crucified.’

In the midst of her apostolic labours Catherine continued to
meditate over the evils that beset the Church, the uncertainties of
the time, and the need for prompt reform. Her experiences in
Pisa and Lucca had convinced her that the reform must begin
with the Papacy itself. Then it would be easy for the Pope to
reform the rest of Christendom. Until now she had been warning
the children of the Church, a warning which was needed but not
sufficient, since so many troubles were due to the Father himself.
She now resolutely turned to him, revealing to him the extent and
profundity of the ills diat were undermining the Church, and

196 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

begging him to apply the needful remedies, that were in his
power. She wrote directly to the Pope, frankly and clearly. We
find again the same observations and criticisms that were con¬
tained in the epistle to the Abbot of Lezat, though now they are
worded with more reverence. We hear the bell tolling, but also
the warrior’s bugle-cry—words of dread and loathing, others
that console and exalt. Sometimes Catherine seems to bow herself
to the dust, then all at once she raises her head high, with the
dignity and authority of a prophet. She feels herself to be nothing,
but a nothing that has found its all in God, and therefore can judge,
warn and command. The safety and greatness of the Pope and the
Church depend on the clergy renouncing their selfishness, luxury
and corruption. Fire and the sword arc needed to cure and heal:
‘If the wound is neither burnt with fire nor cut with the sword,
but only smeared with ointment, not only will it never heal but
it will go rotten, and will often result in death’.

Direct and certain means must be used against the evil that is
destroying the Church: ‘Alas! Alas! my sweet father, this is the
reason why your subjects are all corrupt, full of impurity and
wickedness, alas! (I say it weeping) how dangerous is this canker
worm!’ He himself, the Father of all Christians, must first give
up all selfishness, and immoderate affection for his own relations
and friends, and attachment to things of this world; he must
imitate Pope Gregory the Great, a man like himself, but who
thought only of the good of souls, and loved God not for his own
sake but for God’s. He must follow after spiritual tilings, and then
temporal things would not fail him. The sacred fire within him
must destroy that other fire of selfishness and all other passions.
He was the Vicar of Christ and must follow manfully in His
footsteps. He must first purify himself, and then set about cleansing
the Church. ‘Do not be perturbed because cities and states rebel
against you and the Florentines wage war on you. Do not be
afraid of anything that may happen in this stormy weather that
has fallen upon you, that is, do not fear these rotten members that
have rebelled against you. Fear nought, for divine aid is at hand.’
He must choose Cardinals, bishops and priests of unblemished
character and profound spirituality, unlike those he had recently
appointed, and he must straightway declare the Crusade, for
which all Christians must be ready to give their lives. In fact, the

THE STIGMATA

197

Crusade should be the kernel of his politics: ‘Make peace with
those who rebel and fight against you, invite them all to a holy
peace, so that the whole force of the war may fall upon the
infidels’. He must come among his faithful in Italy: ‘Come, come
now to console the poor little servants of God, your children.
They wait for you with affectionate and loving desire.’ She tells
him about her own efforts to hold back Pisa and Lucca from join¬
ing the League at the instigation of Florence, and explains how
threatening the future appears. She begs him to write to the two
Republics at once, and give them all the encouragement and
strength he can.

When Gregory XI received this letter he must have admired
Catherine’s frankness, her love for the Church and her profound 1
faith. He liked to be told the truth, knowing that almost everyone ^
tried to hide it from him. When he was informed of the revolt of
Viterbo and Perugia he exclaimed: ‘I never found anyone who
would tell me the truth, except the Lombards’. Now Catherine’s
frank letter came to please and console him. He believed in the
revelations of the Saints and admitted the superiority of mystics,
and therefore her words had a special weight with him, and per¬
haps strengthened his own purpose to return to Italy and reform
the Church. Catherine was right in indicating the weakness of
the Papacy, and in demanding a remedy; but as a political coun¬
sellor she was ingenuous. He also wanted to return to Italy, and
had long proclaimed this desire to the whole Christian world; he
also desired the Crusade, and had issued Bulls to that end; he also
hoped to reform the clergy and the Church, and had already made
some attempts in that direction; but these were great problems
that could not be solved from one moment to another.

How was it possible to proclaim an immediate Crusade? Any
war, even a holy war, must be planned psychologically, financially,
politically, in every smallest detail, to avoid a disaster like that of
the Second Crusade, inspired by St Bernard. To go campaigning
in the Holy Land required a great expenditure of money, many
ships, well-trained armies and the co-operation of rich and power¬
ful peoples. Catherine knew only of what was happening in her
own neighbourhood, and even if she could count on some
thousands of Italian Crusaders, ready to fight the infidels, they
were not, as Gregory had been informed, of great military worth.

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

198

It was ingenuous on her part to think that if the Pope offered
peace to his enemies, they would at once flock to fight for the
‘holy expedition’. His return to Italy, also, although right and
necessary, was not a thing that could be done in a hurry. As Pope
he had obligations, not only towards Italy, but towards the whole
of Europe, and he could not in that moment leave France and
Italy to tear each other to pieces, without trying to intervene as a
peacemaker. However, Catherine was a real Saint, and it behoved
him to take some notice of her words; she was eloquent and pro¬
foundly religious. Her exhortations were inspired and full of
persuasive power, hi very truth she was of service to the cause of
Christ and could be of even greater service in the future. We can
guess that these thoughts were in Gregory’s mind, but whether or
not he replied to Catherine’s letter we do not know.

Meanwhile, believing that Gregory XI was a weak man, as was
commonly supposed among the Dominicans of her group,
Catherine persevered with her requests and warnings to the Pope,
writing to two great personages of the Curia: Nicola ‘de Romanis’
da Osimo, proto-notary and secretary to the Pope, and Jacopo da
Itri, the Archbishop of Otranto, whom she knew personally, and
who had informed the Caterinati of the imminent return of the
Pope to Italy, and of the beginning of the ‘holy expedition’. After
appealing to both of them to cleanse themselves in the Blood of
Christ, to be full of virtue, and willing to sacrifice all for the
cause of God, she repeated, more or less, the same ideas she had
expressed to the Pope: they must persuade him to return as soon
as possible to Italy, make the Crusade a reality, and reform the
clergy.

Meanwhile, she received disquieting news from Lucca—the
city had decided to join the anti-Papal League. Great was her
disappointment. She had always been a bit doubtful about the
Lucchesi—but she had entertained some hopes of the success of
her own mission among them; now all seemed lost. She wrote
to the Elders a letter, mostly a sermon on human blindness, in
which she insisted on the immortality of the Church, which is
eternal and indestructible because God gives her light and power.
Then she appealed directly to the Lucchesi: ‘My very dear
brothers, and sons of Holy Church’, to urge them to persevere in
loyalty to the Pope, and to refuse to follow those devils the

TILE STIGMATA

199

Florentines, who would lead them to damnation. Until now, she
says, they have been strong and persevering and obedient to
Holy Church, and she has rejoiced at this: but now, hearing the
contrary, I am greatly cast down’. She warns them that although
they say they take this step for the sake of peace, they will find
the greatest war and ruin that they ever had—for body and soul.
‘Now do not be guilty of such ignorance, but be true sons and
persevering. You will know that if the Father has many sons he
will leave his inheritance only to the one who remains faithful to
him/ Returning to the initial theme of her letter, she says: ‘Man
is a blind man, needing the light, and the light is Christ. We must
therefore go in search of this light, and I pray the supreme eternal
Truth to fill and robe your soul with light, so that I shall not be
afraid of your doing the contrary of what I now pray and order
you to do in Christ’s name, that is, to act otherwise in the future
from the way you have acted in the past.’ Her letter and appeal
apparently were of no avail; but Catherine had the satisfaction of
knowing she had done what God required of her. She had re¬
minded the Elders of Lucca of their Christian conscience, and of
their duty as sons of the Church.

This was a period of great sadness for Catherine. Things were
not turning out as she had hoped. She meditated on all this, seek¬
ing for the cause, and found it in herself. She was the guilty one;
because of her sins there was so much evil in the world: ‘have
mercy on my wickedness, my dear daughters, that is the cause of
all the evil done in the world, and especially of offences against
the sweet bride of Christ’, she wrote to her Sienese Tertiaries,
perhaps after an unsuccessful visit to the Elders of Lucca. It was
a moment of disappointment and grief. She had failed in her
intent, and God had withheld His aid because she had not the
faith that moves mountains; the fault was therefore hers alone.
She was lacking in faith because she was not pure enough; she
was a sinner, still far from God. She must make a greater sacrifice
of herself, a more complete cleansing and drowning in the Blood
of Christ.

When a mystic believes himself guilty of all the evil in the
world, he has risen above the universe and is, as it were, on the
farthest rim of a circle whose centre is God. The light of life pro¬
ceeds from God, but passes through him, and so when he sees

200

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

outside the circle nothing but darkness he blames his own soul for
hindering the light from shining to illuminate the whole world.
Such a thought might become an obsession and lead to despair;
but the mystics remain serene, because almost immediately after¬
wards they are again aware of the light and life within their own
souls, made transparent and luminous through divine action. So
their optimism and joy return: ‘I am sure, and I comfort myself
with this, that His Providence will not fail. And already I seem to
see His Providence beginning to appear/ Thus, serene and con¬
fident, Catherine took up her task again.

One of her women disciples wrote to her from Lucca saying she
was grieving because her sweet Mother had left the city. Catherine
answered at once, rebuking her for her attachment to creatures:
‘I do not wish you to have love for me, or for any creatures, but
only for God\ She must consider the life of Christ. Did He not
abandon all He held most dear on earth to save mankind?
Detachment from peoples and things is the first duty of the pil¬
grim in spiritual life. Therefore she must not feel the need of
Catherine’s bodily presence. ‘Now I want you and the others to
love me in this wise. Think of me only to give the glory to God,
and give your service to your neighbours.’ She herself was but
an instrument in the hands of her Creator, and her work must be
praised or condemned according to His purpose. They must turn
to the Cross, by which she stood. ‘Only there must you look for
me, and for any other creature/ It was a good thing that she had
left them, for otherwise they might not have sought for God
alone, but might have clung too closely to her person, at the cost
of their own perfection. However, they must not doubt her love.
‘Do not think that because my body goes away from you, my
affection and solicitude for your salvation grow less; for rather
they increase when I am absent from you.’

To Bartolomea di Salvatico, also a Lucchese, and a recent con¬
vert, she writes to confirm her in the three fundamental Christian
virtues: hatred for sin, love, through the grace of Christ, for all
creatures and created things, patience to endure all hardship and
pain. To possess these three virtues is to possess God, and whoever
has God ‘can feel no bitterness, for He is supreme delight, sweet¬
ness and joy. And that is the reason why the servants of God ever
rejoice/ And she advises her to follow the Magdalene, the teacher

THE STIGMATA

201

of all the faithful, who had no thought for herself, but wished
wholly to follow Christ.

★ ★ ★

Meanwhile, the quarrel between Florence and the Papacy was
growing more bitter and dangerous. Today it is easy to accuse the
Florentines of a lack of political judgment in under-estimating the
power of the Holy See. In fact, the knowledge of their own
intellectual and material superiority, and the pride this knowledge
gave them, prevented the Florentines from estimating correctly
their own powers of resistance to the Papacy. They were full of
self-confidence, supreme in art and letters, sure and proud of the
great wealth they had amassed by their industry and commerce,
clever in business, showing great talent in a variety of professions,
easy and eloquent orators—why should they not aim at leadership
in Italy? Did they not, more than any other state, deserve the
political overlordship? But their ambition was opposed by the
Papacy, and therefore they began subtly to undermine the Papal
power, believing that, as soon as the temporal power of the
Church collapsed, Florence would be able, directly or indirectly,
to govern the greater part of central Italy.

The achievement of this purpose, that they saw ever more
clearly before them, required careful planning to ensure their
success. They began by exaggerating the weaknesses of the Papal
government, and the ill deeds of the Legates, and exploiting the
frictions and disagreements between the people and clergy, and
they incited the Papal lands to revolt, and tried to mobilise
Princes and states against the Papacy. The innate irony of the
Florentines had plenty of scope, for the high ecclesiastics presented
a good target for ridicule and mockery. With deliberate cunning
they fanned into a blaze the discontent that was already smoulder¬
ing, and offered help to all and sundry, promising independence
and liberty. In the Romagna, in Umbria, the Marches and Tus¬
cany, the Florentines already formed a sort of camouflaged army,
or ‘fifth column, ready to rise against the Legates and fight them
resolutely when the hour for action came. Thus in central Italy
the policy of Florence seemed triumphant, and she rejoiced when
she heard of unrest, revolts and insurrections against the Papacy.

These men of the City of the Lily acted guilefully and with

202 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

subtle tact. They never came out into the open, for they did not
wish to be accused of inciting the Papal cities to rebellion for their
own ends. They did not declare themselves anti-religious, or anti-
Papal, but proclaimed their desire to oppose ecclesiastical policy,
as being a policy of Frenchmen for Frenchmen, and therefore
alien and harmful to the Italian states. They tried to initiate a
nationalist movement that might even include the Church. It does
not seem likely that they contemplated setting up a National
Church, as Dupre-Theseidcr seems inclined to believe. Writing
about this in his book on the Popes of Avignon, he bases his
conjecture on the writings of Marsili, who certainly refers to such
a plan, but without much support from other Tuscan historians.

Then came what the Florentines, posing as victims, thought an
opportune moment to attack the Papacy with precise accusations.
The Pope had refused to send the com which Florence needed;
the Legate of Bologna had sent Hawkwood to loot and devastate
Tuscany to weaken Florence; the ecclesiastics had plotted the
betrayal of Prato, as was proved irrefutably by the Treaty which
consigned Prato to Hawkwood. The Pope was evidently deter¬
mined to break the power of Florence and then subdue her with
all the rest of Tuscany.

Today historical criticism has dismissed these accusations as
false and absurd, but in those days they were on the lips of all, and
inflamed the imaginations of the Florentines. While making these
open accusations, Florence was also building up a defence system
that might (and, in fact, did) at the opportune moment become a
means of aggression. She formed an anti-Papal League with
Bemabd Visconti, and then with promises or threats induced
various Tuscan cities to enter it. She was preparing arms and
combatants.

Meanwhile, the Republic received good news: the Papal States
were in revolt against their rulers and joining the Florentine
League. From November 18th, 1375, with the insurrection of
Viterbo, to March 19th, 1376, with the revolt of Bologna,
Florence had every reason to exult over the continual defections
from Papal rule. The ‘great bell to announce a great festivity’ rang
out frequently, and enormous bonfires were lit amidst general
rejoicing.

The temporal power of the Papacy seemed about to collapse.

THE STIGMATA 203

The prestige and authority of Florence were increasing. What, the
Florentines boasted, could the Legates do now, driven out of their
cities and fortresses ? What could the Pope himself, Gregory XI,
do ? He was weak and hesitant, and remained in distant Avignon,
busied with questions other than that of Italy. It was to the
advantage of Florence that he should remain where he was, and
gradually accustom himself to the sad reality of the loss of his
temporal power; then the astute and powerful Republic might
be able to include him within her own political orbit, as a useful
instrument of her own power.

This political ambition was but a dream. The Florentines, cold,
calculating, wary, mercilessly critical of their own actions and of
everybody else’s, for once made a mistake. They succeeded in
their campaign against the Curia, they knew how to sow hatred
against the Pope, and arouse a desire for freedom in the peoples
subject to him, they were able to initiate an anti-Papal movement
that seemed powerful enough, and form a League of Republics
and cities that, at least in the beginning, held firm; but they under¬
estimated the latent strength of the Papacy, a strength that was
ready for active intervention. Misunderstanding the character of
Gregory XI, they also mistook the intentions of foreign states;
they did not propitiate the Emperor and they did not smooth out
their own internal divisions. All these mistakes became evident as
soon as Gregory XI began to act in his own defence, and they
proved the cause of their final disaster. One must admit that the
Pope was patient for many months. Instead of taking vigorous
action, he tried persuasion. In his numerous Bulls he explained,
humbly requested, almost apologised. He counselled obedience,
invoked unity, submission, peace. He asked the Legates to punish
the officials who were guilty of maladministration; he wanted to
come to an agreement with his subject peoples, and invited them
to wait for his return to Italy in the near future, when he himself
would sec that they were dealt with justly. All this was a subject
of mirth for the Florentines, and they went on more boldly than
ever with their work of undermining Papal prestige and feeding
the revolt. But towards the end of 1375 Gregory XI changed his
attitude and became harsh and severe; in the last days of December
he accused the Florentines of usury, and declared they were
fomenting rebellion in the Papal States. Fie imposed a fine of

204 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

thirty thousand francs on the Florentine merchants residing in
Avignon. Florence protested and intensified her opposition.
Gregory remained firm: the levy was paid. Meanwhile the Pope
collected funds for the war, now imminent, and opened negotia¬
tions to take the Company of Breton Mercenaries into his pay.

★ ★ ★

Queen Giovanna of Naples and the Republic of Genoa, wishing
to relieve the tension, sent ambassadors to Florence with pro¬
posals for peace, which the Signoria refused. On February
nth, 1376, Gregory solemnly accused the Florentines and
ordered the Signoria to appear for trial in Avignon on March
31st. The Signoria showed no sign of wavering or fear, but
with characteristic astuteness, while still continuing their adverse
propaganda, they sent letters to the Pope, before the trial began,
recommending the representatives they sent to defend them, and
appealing for his clemency; they wrote also to the College of
Cardinals to remind them of their ‘ancient and uninterrupted
devotion and affection for the Church’, and to Cardinal Corsini of
Florence to beg him to speak in favour of his own city, and ‘not
make himself guilty of ingratitude towards his native land’, and to
other Cardinals, Religious and rulers, asking them to defend the
Florentines before the Pope. They professed themselves devoted
children of the Church and of the Pope, and declared that
Gregory’s misunderstanding of them was due to the false and
wicked accusations which envious minds had poured into his
ears; they attributed the responsibility for the insurrections in the
Papal States to the ecclesiastical officials, whom they described as:
l oculi et cor ad avariciam et ad sanguinem innocentem effundendum et ad
ciirsum tnali operis ’. The Pope was unmoved; on the 31st of March
he had the accusations read out in the Consistorial Court. The
defenders of Florence did all they could to deny these accusations;
but their eloquence and their arguments fell to the ground. All
their attempts to avoid excommunication failed. The Pope, tired
of the hostile activity of Florence, wanted to make an end, and
demanded an exemplary punishment. The condemnation was
solemnly read: excommunication, Interdict, confiscation of
wealth. The Florentines were to be shunned, and their house

THE STIGMATA

205

burnt. The city was outlawed; the property of the citizens was
anyone’s prize. A sentence to strike fear into the heart! The power
and wealth of Florence were to wither in a spiritual, moral,
economic and financial desert. The defenders of the Republic
must have trembled with apprehension. It is said that the eloquent
orator Barbadoro, once he realised their cause was hopeless,
appealed to the Crucified for justice and help, against the injustice
of His Vicar on earth, and this appeal, although rhetorical and
bombastic, showed his concern and fear for the future of his
country.

Florence now began to feel some difficulty and opposition. The
Emperor ordered her to cease from stirring up rebellion in the
Papal States; Naples opposed her instead of coming to her aid;
neither Venice nor Genoa would support her openly; Rome
refused to join the League; Hungary was hostile. Bernabo Vis¬
conti, her greatest ally, helped her as little as he could, ‘to spare
Lombardy the evils of war, and, to his own advantage, to let the
full burden of the war fall on the Republic’.

Even the members of the League began to weaken. As Mirot
says: ‘Each ally aimed at increasing his own territory before his
neighbour could seize land they both coveted. Each thought of his
own defence, and Florence had not sufficient authority to compel
private rivalries to give place to the common interest. The League
broke asunder almost as soon as it was formed. From the day on
which the Pope announced his return, and declared Florence to
be beyond the pale of Christendom, the Florentines could count
defections from the League as rapidly as before they had counted
the adhcrences.’

Internal dissensions were now formidable. The ‘war’ party had
not realised that from the very beginning it should have weakened
the ‘peace’ party, that of the Guelphs. This party was so strong
that ‘while the Signoria were conducting hostilities against the
Pope, they could not defend themselves against the Party Cap¬
tains, and their followers’, ‘because’, adds Machiavelli, echoing
the Chronicles of that time, ‘in the Party the Captains were so
arrogant that they were held in more reverence than the rulers
themselves; so much so that no ambassador came to Florence
without having a mission to the Captains’.

How could Florence, amid such uncertainties and hostilities,

206 my SERVANT CATHERINE

and with the prospect of economic disaster before her, hope to
obtain a victory over the Pope, who had powerful spiritual forces
at his disposal, was defended by the Emperor and various foreign
states, and was moreover, everywhere supported by thousands of
priests and friars?

At this dramatic moment Catherine came into contact with the
rulers of the Florentine Republic. In January or February of 1376
she had written to her friend Niccolo Soderini, who had been
elected Prior for those two months. It should have been a letter of
congratulation, but it was one of warning instead. Catherine is
absorbed in the thought of the anti-Papal League which in those
days seemed very formidable, and a great deal of this letter may
be said to consist of variations on the theme: ‘ Lcga , legare, legami,
legato’Jyvords which she repeats more than twenty times. Now that
Soderini is one of die Rulers, he must help his fellow citizens to
bind themselves to Christ, and hence also to His Vicar on earth,
for Church and Christ are one. What are these dreams of Floren¬
tine greatness, and this fear of losing power? ‘We are fools, for
we ruin ourselves through our lust for greatness, and, for fear of
losing our position, we take on and do the devil s work, inviting
other creatures to do the same evil things that we do ourselves,
like the devil himself, for when they were angels, those that fell
bound themselves together and rebelled against God, and through
their desire to climb higher fell lower.’ They were mistaken in
thinking they had been attacked by the Pope; instead, it was they
who had attacked him; nevertheless, he was such a kind father
that he not only forgave them but invited them to make peace.
They were to go to him and bind themselves to him with manly
and virtuous hearts, if they wished to share in the Blood of Christ.
They must strive for peace. ‘Try to make peace and union be¬
tween yourselves and Holy Church, to save yourselves from dire
peril, you and all Tuscany with you. Methinks war is not so sweet
that we must all needs accept it, if there is any way out of it. Is
there anything sweeter than peace? To be sure, no!

This letter must have shaken and moved Soderini, arousing in
him feelings and thoughts that were latent, if dormant, in his soul.
But it was not yet the right moment to show his own mind. Just
then all seemed still to favour the Republic, the Signoria were
continually victorious, the power of Florence was increasing.

THE STIGMATA 207

enthusiasm for the war had now spread among the people, and
anyone who spoke in favour of peace was considered a traitor.
Only when Florence was plunged under the Interdict and excom¬
munication, and the first baneful effects of these were felt, only
then did the Guelph party begin to work more insistently in
favour of peace. Perhaps Soderini then remembered Catherine’s
letter. She had spoken of the Pope as a kind father who would
invite them to make peace. Peace had now become a mirage for
many, and every day more necessary for Florence, as more and
more people had begun to understand. But who could take the
first steps to bring about a reconciliation with the Pope without
compromising the Government of the city? Why not Catherine?
She enjoyed the Pope’s esteem and corresponded with him. It
would be well to invite her, and to make use of her mediations.
She was a Saint, and therefore more able to save Florence than
anyone else. The letter Soderini had received from her was per¬
haps of good omen. Perhaps he spoke of her to his friends in the
Party, or to some of the Priors.

This would fit in with Fra Raimondo’s assertion that, when the
Florentines began to feel the economic effects of the Interdict,
‘they were obliged to seek peace with the Pope through the
agency of people who they knew were acceptable to him. They
were told that the holy virgin, whose sanctity was known to him,
was high in his favour.’ Soderini may also have spoken of Catherine
with the Dominicans of Santa Maria Novella, who were in close
touch with the Guelph Party, and so there may have been a group
of people in authority, anxious to make peace with the Church,
who considered Catherine to be the most suitable person to beg
Gregory XI to use mildness and clemency in his dealings with
Florence. It was urgently necessary to put a stop to the economic
ruin now threatening, and to spare the city further evils. It was
thought best to send the Pope, in Catherine’s name, a trustworthy
person who could explain to him the circumstances hi which the
Florentines found themselves, and the Saint’s own wishes—and
who could be better fitted for tills mission that Raimondo da
Capua, an intimate friend of Catherine’s, much esteemed in his
Order, and highly thought of also in die Curia? So-Fra Raimondo
was sent as unofficial ambassador to Avignon. In Catherine’s name
he was to appeal to the Pope’s compassion, and prepare the ground

20 8 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

for a possible future reconciliation. Fra Raimondo writes: ‘They
ordered me first of all to go to the Pope on behalf of Catherine,
to endeavour to mitigate his wrath’. We infer that he was sent by
the heads of the Guelph Party, in agreement with the Dominicans.
The Party constituted a state within the state, and had the power
and authority to send Fra Raimondo to the Pope on a special
mission of importance for Florence, without however pledging
the city directly by deeds or words.

Catherine heard all about this, and gave her consent. Her letters
often show her desire to see the Pope and speak to him, and she
may have thought that this would be a propitious time to do so.
Fra Raimondo would present himself to Gregory XI in her name,
and the Pope might perhaps ask to see her. When her spiritual
director, accompanied by Fra Giovanni Terzo, Fra Felice da Massa
and others, left for Avignon at the end of March, he carried with
him a letter from Catherine presenting and recommending him to
the Pope.

This letter sought, indirectly, to further peace between Florence
and the Holy See. The Pope must be ‘the instrument and cause,
through divine grace, of the pacification of the whole world’, but
he could achieve this only by reforming the clergy, returning to
Rome, and preaching the Crusade. These are the three recurrent
themes of all her letters, but in this one her language is more
vigorous than in the preceding letters, and denotes her growing
scorn of those prelates who are ‘stinking weeds, full of impurity
and greed, swollen with pride’, who must be uprooted, because
they ‘poison and befoul’ the garden of the Church. Her thoughts
turn wistfully to the primitive Church. Perhaps these rebellions
and defections arc a means of recalling the Church to its pure
origins. Perhaps God had desired this war ‘so that Holy Church
might return to her former poverty, and be meek and humble as
she was in that holy time, when, caring for nought but the glory of
God and the salvation of souls, she occupied herself with spiritual
and not with temporal matters—for since she had begun to care
more for temporal than for spiritual things, all has gone from bad
to worse’.

These are not mere echoes of Franciscan thought, so widely
diffused at that time, but arc also spontaneous and direct judg¬
ments of her own. She esteemed and counselled poverty, but,

THE STIGMATA 209

unlike St Francis, never made it the absolute centre of life. She
admired the primitive Church but did not consider it was neces¬
sary to return to its practice, as the more or less Protestant re¬
formers insisted later on. She believed the Church must purify
herself, and become more spiritually minded, but she did not deny
her historical evolution. The revolts and wars of her own day
were due to moral causes; the real teaching of the Church had
been neglected or destroyed because wicked ministers had so
sucked her blood that ‘she had become quite pale’; the Pope must
therefore take wide, comprehensive and energetic action, so as to
bring about ‘a great peace out of war, and a great concord out of
persecution\ He must not be enraged because of the recent insur¬
rection of Bologna, and he must not desist from his purposes of
peace; she, Catherine, was hard at work putting things to rights.
She wrote confidently to the Pope: ‘those fierce wolves’—the
Florentines—‘will put their heads in your lap like meek lambs,
and beg for your mercy’.

A few weeks later she wrote again to Gregory XI, repeating her
appeal, and defending the Florentines more warmly than ever,
imploring him to forgive them. The phrase: ‘I know that all
agree that they have behaved badly’, and her persistence in
accusing the corrupt ministers of the Church of being the direct
cause of the war, lead us to suppose that she had been in consulta¬
tion with the leaders of the Guelph Party. It is as if she were
repeating accusations she had heard in the mouths of Florentines
—but she gives them a spiritual, not a political significance.

Anger and war do not work the salvation of men, she wrote to
the Pope. Only love and mercy can save them. Christ acknow¬
ledged this when He came down to earth, and you, His Vicar-on-
earth, must acknowledge this too. ‘O my most holy and sweet
Father, I see no other remedy and no other way to win back again
your little sheep, that have run away like rebels from the fold of
Holy Church, like disobedient rebels to you, Father. So I pray
you, in the name of Christ Crucified, and I beg you to grant me
this boon—to conquer their malice with your kindness.’ He must
love and forgive, and he would see the grateful Florentines defend¬
ing the cause of Christ. They would become Crusaders, she was
sure of it; they had assured her they were ‘ready to give their lives
for Christ’.

210 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

Catherine had not realised she was dealing with politicians who
were ready to promise everything to achieve their own purpose.
They had understood that the Crusade was her darling project,
and so they glibly assured her that Florence would take part in the
Crusade as soon as peace was made with the Pope. This promise
had the effect of increasing her efforts in pleading their cause—
which was all they wanted. Catherine is afire with enthusiasm as
soon as she writes of the Crusade: ‘Raise the standard of the most
holy Cross, Father, and you will sec the wolves become lambs.
Peace! Peace! Peace!’ She has a moment’s doubt; will the Pope
accept her advice? He has suffered such injuries that he must have
justice, must even have just retribution; but there is a way out for
all: she is willing to be the expiatory victim. ‘But if you wish to have
vengeance and justice, visit these on me, wretched and miserable
as I am, and give me all the punishments and pains you wish, even
to death. I believe that the scandal of my own iniquities has caused
many defections, and grave troubles and quarrels. Therefore,
wreak on me, your wretched daughter, whatever vengeance you
will. Alas! Father, I die of grief and yet cannot die.’

However much Gregory XI admired her outburst of love and
her spirit of self-sacrifice, he must have reflected somewhat rue¬
fully that wars cannot be terminated in this way, nor political
quarrels smoothed out. Catherine, meanwhile, more and more
enthusiastic for her own ideas, insisted that at all costs peace must
be signed between Florence and the Pope, because only after this
could the Crusade be proclaimed.

On the first of April she had a vision that she describes, with
great joy, in a letter to Raimondo da Capua. The Primal Truth
told her that the purpose of the present persecution was the
renewal and exaltation of the Church, and that as Christ scourged
the merchants in the Temple and drove them out, so the venal and
corrupt prelates were now scourged by persecution, and, in the
future, would be driven out of the Church, so that the Church
might become pure again. Her desire took on a vivid form in this
vision. She saw Christians and infidels enter the wounded side of
Christ, and among them she saw herself accompanied by St John
the Evangelist, and St Dominic. Then Christ laid the Cross on her
shoulders, and put in her hands an olive branch to offer to Chris¬
tians and infidels. Catherine rejoiced, seeing the whole world con-

211

THE STIGMATA

verted to Christ, and at peace for ever. What more could she
desire? Her dream had become reality, and her task here below
was completed; now at last she might die: ‘I languish with this
desire’.

She was certain that this was a prophetic vision—her will
fastened itself still more closely to her purpose—the world (that is,
Florence and the Papacy, for other European peoples and their
wars did not interest her) must be reconciled, the Pope must
return to Rome, and the Crusade must be proclaimed. She herself
would be the means of achieving all this: so her vision had
assured her.

The Easter of the Resurrection of Christ was at hand—a time
of peace. The Signoria must make peace with the Pope. She wrote
to them: ‘And so I desire, with very great longing, to see you
behave as true children and not as rebels against your Father, not
turning your backs on the testament of peace, but seekers after
peace, bound together and united in the bond and love of burning
charity’. If they wished to continue in their revolt and war against
the Pope they would be ungrateful and impious children. ‘I wish
to celebrate Easter with you, an Easter of reconciliation, so that
you may be peaceful children, not rebellious against your head,
but obedient subjects even unto death. You well know that Christ
left us His Vicar, and left him as a remedy for our souls; we can
have no health outside the Mystical Body of Holy Church, whose
Head is Christ, and we arc His members; and lie who disobeys
Christ-on-earth, who stands in the place of Christ-in-Heaven,
shall have no share in the Blood of the Son of God.’ They had
persecuted the Vicar of Christ; therefore ‘you have fallen into
death and hatred, and into God’s displeasure’. How could they
be raised up again? They proffered excuses which were worthless.
They accused the prelates, the rulers of the Church, representing
them as wicked monsters; she also admitted that individually
there were bad shepherds, but what of that? Has God not com¬
manded that even if the Pope and the rulers of the Church were
devils incarnate, we should still owe them obedience? Obedience
‘not to them as themselves, but, through obedience to Christ, as
Vicars of Christ, who command us to do this’. Instead of wasting
themselves in this unworthy war, they should spend their energies
in greater causes; instead of massacring other Christians, and

212 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

rebelling against their head, they should humiliate themselves
devoutly before him; then, out with their swords against the
infidels! ‘Arise and run to the arms of your Father, who will
receive you kindly if you will but do so, and you will have peace
and repose spiritually and temporally, you and the whole of
Tuscany, for when the standard of the Holy Cross is raised the
whole weight of the war will fall upon the infidels, and if you do
not set out now to make a good peace, you will have a worse
time, for you and all Tuscany, than ever our fathers had. I tell you
all this because I love you and suffer for your present misery, and
I am ready to do all I can for you, and I do so joyfully; do you
wish me to help you? It would be well to see each other and to
speak. My love for you and my grief for your present trouble
would more easily be expressed by word of mouth than in a letter.
If through my means anything can be obtained, for the glory of
God, and the reconciliation of you and Holy Church, I am dis¬
posed to give my life, if need be.

This offer of mediation must have pleased the Signoria. There
were among them some already anxious for peace, and others
who would have done anything to avoid the consequences of the
Interdict, now painfully evident. As she had offered her services,
she might be of use to them. In any case, she could be a means of
gaining time, and calming the Papal indignation. In Avignon at
that time was the Company of Breton Mercenaries, a great source
of anxiety—they were fifteen hundred lancers, and eight thousand
armed men. If they were to march against Florence the city would
be in grave danger, but the Saint might beg the Pope to postpone
their departure. When all was taken into consideration, Catherine’s
offer was worth accepting.

We do not know whether Catherine was already in Florence
when she wrote to the Signoria. The vision took place in Siena,
and she probably wrote to them from her own city. Some of the
Signoria, with some Guelph friends, probably invited her there.
Possibly Fra Raimondo is right when he says the Priors issued
forth from one of the gates of Florence to meet her; probably,
however, it was not the Priors themselves, but persons in author¬
ity, and perhaps some ex-Priors. Certainly there was a meeting,
official or not, and one sees why it was considered necessary. The
discontent with the war felt by some sections of the Florentine

THE STIGMATA 213

populace, the hardships caused by the excommunication and
Interdict, the spectre of commercial failure and bankruptcy, the
defection of some cities from the League, the hostility of the rest
of Europe, must have persuaded the rulers of the Republic to
avail themselves of the help of anyone who might be able to come
to their assistance. Catherine was a holy woman and corresponded
with the Pope; she might easily assuage his anger and persuade
him to be merciful, and so might help to create an atmosphere
more favourable to future negotiations. If she succeeded in her
preparatory work, the real ambassadors could at once be sent,
and they would more easily then be able to negotiate a peace.

With such intentions before them, the Signoria who interviewed
her naturally accepted all her demands. Catherine wanted the
Florentines to prostrate themselves before the Pope and beg his
forgiveness and mercy, so that she could offer them to their
Father ‘as dead children’. They agreed. She asked for a free hand
to treat their cause. They granted this. She demanded that, when
peace was made, they should take part in the Crusade. They
willingly consented. It cost them nothing to concede, verbally,
more than they had the power to give, or even more than they
could approve of— since their concessions and promises had no
binding power for them, but were expedient at that moment.

As soon as Catherine got to know that after her own departure,
the real ambassadors of the Signoria would leave for Avignon, she
became a little suspicious, and asked for her ‘letter of credentials,
to prove that we have conferred together about all this’, but they
replied that they believed in her alone, and therefore trusted in her
only: ‘we do not believe that this can be done by any other hand
but that of a servant of God’. She was convinced by this reply,
which cleverly flattered her religious feelings. Being unused to
political skirmishing, she was not on her guard, and therefore the
ambiguous meaning of the phrases deliberately used by the states¬
men did not arouse her distrust; she did not notice that they were
making use of her without in any way pledging their Govern¬
ment’s support. She was trustful, believed in men’s words, and
therefore considered herself an official ambassadress sent by
Florence to the Pope, while the Florentines used her merely as a
means to procure a more favourable reception by Gregory XI.

Meanwhile, without the slightest doubt about the mission

214 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

entrusted to her, Catherine was glad to be going at last to Avig¬
non, to speak with the Pope. After her conversation with the
Signoria, she wrote to Gregory XI: ‘Methinks the divine good¬
ness is changing the fierce wolves into humble lambs. And so I am
coming to you at once to place them in your lap.’ Then, taking
heart from the fact that the Pope had asked her advice about his
return to Italy, she firmly admonished him: ‘If the Florentines
have given up their pride, and have so humiliated themselves that
I can offer them to you, begging for your forgiveness and mercy,
you also must give up your self-love and forgive them. You must
be manly in forgiving, not held back by any servile fear. Does the
good shepherd not set on his shoulder the little sheep he has
found, to bear it back to the fold? You must do the same, for I
am sure you will receive them as a father, notwithstanding the
insults and injuries they have wrought against you.’ In this way
alone the war would end, and the Pope would be free, and all
Christendom with him, to fall upon the infidels.

While she cannot forbear to plead with the Pope for this insis¬
tent dream of the Crusade so dear to her heart, yet in her enthusi¬
asm she does not forget the anxious request of the Florentines,
that the Pope should keep in Avignon the Breton mercenaries
that were to have marched on Florence. ‘Those people you have
taken into your pay, to send them here, keep them there, and see
they do not come, as they would remedy nothing but mar all.’

Then, with a joyful heart, she gathered her strength in God to
acquire the necessary energy to fulfil her new and difficult
mission. She was happy. She chose those of her disciples that she
wished to accompany her on her journey; gave the necessary
instructions to her friends and followers, and prepared to set out,
fortified by the memory of her prophetic vision.

Chapter VIII
AVIGNON

Catherine arrived in Avignon on June 18th, 1376. She brought
with her a numerous Family, which was joined by other
disciples who were already in the city. They were in all twenty-
three heralds of God: a spiritual force capable of converting the
world. The city was gay and beautiful, but Catherine disdained it.
‘Avignon, la sonneuse de la joie . . .’, f the city of the ringing
belfries, gave her no joy; she was absorbed in the thought of her
approaching colloquy with Gregory XI, and neither saw nor
heard anything of her surroundings.

Together with her Family she was lodged, by the Pope’s
commands, in a beautiful house where, as Maconi tells us, there
was a chapel ‘beautifully adorned’, which probably means covered
with frescoes. As soon as she arrived Catherine sent word to
Gregory XI that she awaited an audience. Perhaps she sent Pag-
liaresi to him, armed with a letter that has come down to us, in
which no mention was made of any other conversations previously
granted her by the Pope, and in which she respectfully requested
an interview: ‘I would rather tell you this by word of mouth
than in writing’, she said; then she tactfully alluded to the subject,
so dear to his heart, of the return of the Floly See to Rome, and
she urged him to make peace between all Christian folk, so as
better to be able, later on, to make Christians of the infidels, in
holy warfare.

Not many days elapsed before the Pope received her. On June
29th, in a letter to the Eight of the War Party in Florence, she

t ‘Avignon, la sonneuse de la joie,

Qui l’une apr£s l’autre, dleve les pointes
De ses clochcrs tout semds de fleurons’

Fr£d6ric Mistral: Le Poettie du Rhdne.

Chant VIII, LXIX: a Horizon

215

2l6 my SERVANT CATHERINE

informed them that she had already spoken with the Holy
Father. This interview was indeed necessary for both to under¬
stand each other’s endeavours in the pursuit of their common aim.

They admired each other. Gregory believed in Catherine’s
inspiration and in the revelations she received from God. She
believed in liis fatherly goodness, unselfishness, modesty, liber¬
ality and purity of intention. She was simple and spontaneous,
ready to fling herself into any danger for the sake of others; the
Pope was thoughtful and careful, instinctively shunning danger.
Catherine rose above the world of the senses and implored counsel
and guidance from the Infinite; Gregory XI stood squarely on his
rights and judged according to law and justice. She was optimistic
and full of enthusiasm, but easily deceived, while Gregory, used
to political manoeuvres, was distrustful of flatteries and promises,
and always wary and reluctant to make a decision.

He was kind to Catherine. She came out of the interview
jubilant: ‘I have spoken with the Holy Father; through the good¬
ness of God, and his own goodness, he listened to me graciously,
showing a fond love for peace; he was like the good father who
does not think so much of the wrong his son has done to him, as
of the repentance he has shown—so that he may show mercy
towards him. My tongue cannot describe the satisfaction he felt.’

As a matter of fact, Catherine had been somewhat disconcerted
by certain judgments the Pope had expressed on the Florentines
behaviour, and his declaration that he could not just then proclaim
the Crusade, because he had no leader ready to put at the head of
it, must have perturbed her considerably. In his presence she had
felt unable to contradict him, but afterwards, when she thought it
over, it seemed to her that Gregory was not sufficiently strong-
willed, and appeared almost to linger contentedly over the
obstacles that prevented a rapid and energetic course of action. So
she wrote him a letter rather in the style of an inspired judge: ‘O
my most sweet Father, first of all you have been made Pope to
correct all the wickedness that goes on in the Church; and, if
you do not feel capable of doing this you should give up the
triple crown. Secondly, you must make peace with the Tuscans;
punish them as much as they deserve, but make peace with them.
Lastly, declare the Crusade without delay. I know well that this
seems to you now an impossible thing to do, but it is needful that

AVIGNON 217

you give full authority to those who beg you to be allowed to
make this holy expedition. I tell you all this, not on my own
behalf, but constrained to do so by the sweet primal Truth. ... I
would willingly have said this to you in person, so as to satisfy my
conscience, but I did not do so; so now I write to you instead.
However, I am always here, obedient to your command, and
when Your Holiness wishes to see me I will come willingly.’

Meanwhile she began to speak with Cardinals, prelates, princes,
aristocrats, courtiers, statesmen and clerics, talking to all of Christ,
and trying to find in them trusty support for the causes she was
defending: ‘It is through the grace of our sweet Saviour that we
have come here’, she wrote to Sano di Pietro.

But various unpleasant rumours from Florence reached her
ears: the Signoria had levied a tax on all the clergy. Those who
informed Catherine of this were Cardinals favourable to peace,
and therefore not a suspect source; it was best, therefore, to write
at once to Florence, to the ‘Eight of War’, to warn them of the
ruin they would bring upon themselves if they acted in this way:
‘This news of you will spoil all the good seed I have sowed for
you’. She was pleading their cause for peace, she told them, and
had already spoken with the Pope, who was so well-disposed
towards her that when she took her leave he had said that if
matters stood thus, as she had described them, he was ‘ready to
receive you as children and to do with you what seemed best to
me’. Could anyone wish for more? They must not be deceitful,
therefore, but must show, in word and deed, that they desired
peace. If they did otherwise, ‘you would bring shame and mockery
on me, for nothing but shame and confusion could come of my
saying one thing and your doing another’. She ended by saying
she was awaiting with confidence their Ambassadors, to come to
an agreement with them.

She waited patiently, reflecting sometimes on the Pope’s words:
‘Believe me, Catherine, the Florentines have deceived you, and
will deceive you again; they will not send Ambassadors; or, if
they do, their mission will be inconclusive’.

At last the Florentine Ambassadors arrived in Avignon, and
Catherine’s heart rejoiced. At once she sent for them, to inform
them of the excellent results she had obtained in their favour, and
to decide with them what steps to take to win the longed-for

p

21 8 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

peace. But the Ambassadors curtly replied that she had no author¬
ity to treat with them; they were accredited to the Pope, not to
her. This time Gregory XI had prophesied truly. Catherine
realised this at once and acknowledged it. They had deceived her
in Florence, and she grieved over this: ‘I have felt a great bitterness
over this offence to God and injury to yourselves’, she wrote to
Buonaccorso di Lapo, and she added: ‘As the peace between
Florence and the Holy See is necessary for the proclamation of the
Crusade, I shall continue to do what I can, even unto death, for
the honour of God and for your peace, and to remove this
obstacle to the sweet holy expedition overseas’.

From that moment she abandoned the Florentine cause; other
cares absorbed her, and all her eloquence was employed to induce
the Pope to return to Rome, and prepare the Crusade, which had
become dearer to her than life itself.

She was not happy in Avignon. The corruption of the city dis¬
gusted her. All great capitals arc corrupt, but Catherine considered
the central seat of the Church should be the home of purity.
Instead, it was the abode of luxury, intrigue, scandal, greed and
sensuality. Here was no Christian way of life. If she had known
Petrarch’s lines on Avignon, in his 79th Sonnet—

‘De l’empia Babilonia, ond’ e fuggita
ogni vergogna, ond’ ogni bene e fuori
albergo di dolor, madre d’errori . . .’

(‘Babylon, whence all shame has fled
And all true virtue,

Hostelry of grief, home of all errors . . .’)

she would have quoted them to the Pope—but she was not versed
in poetry. She told him that the Court of Avignon, that ought to
be a Paradise full of heavenly virtues, was instead a gutter of
hellish vices, whose stench sickened the air around. Gregory was
astonished to hear her utter such a severe judgment after only a
few days’ sojourn in the city, but she explained that while still in
far-away Siena she had smelt the foul odour of the crimes com¬
mitted at the Papal Court. In fact, in Siena she had often heard
painful stories of the worldly lives of the Cardinals and prelates,

AVIGNON 219

and had heard Avignon called an infernal Babylon by all classes
of people. She could not know that what had happened in
Avignon was what has happened and still happens in all cosmo¬
politan cities. All kinds of adventurers had flocked to the city,
prostitutes had settled there, and fortune-hunters of all kinds,
unscrupulous profiteers and violent and hot-tempered soldiery,
anxious to be taken into the Papal pay. Clerics were there also,
begging for offices and benefices, insinuating and importunate.

Money flowed abundantly, and encouraged every kind of
luxury and vice. The agreeable climate and the attractions of court
life drew crowds of idle rich and dilettanti , and men of the world.
The Pope’s patronage of the arts attracted painters and men of
letters, and since the city was, after all, the central seat of Christen¬
dom, there were also there people of austere religious life, and
scholars, and wise and pious folk. The population was a most
varied mixture, and the city the most cosmopolitan of the age.
The sacred and the profane, austerity and self-indulgence, gran¬
deur and pettiness, elegance and filth, refinement and vulgarity,
were all there together. The work of God and the work of the
Devil were intermingled.

While Catherine passed her severe judgments on the city, its
inhabitants probably considered her an insignificant provincial
woman, or, at the best, a merciless ascetic. Many other ascetics had
visited Avignon—in 1374 Milec of Kromerize had been there,
preaching about the coming of anti-Christ, and the urgency of
Church reform—but their apocalyptic voices had soon died away
without leaving an echo in the pleasant life of Avignon. What
could the ‘beghina’ of Siena hope to do ? But Catherine was a great
Christian and rightly demanded that the Papacy should uphold
strict morality and purity of life. The Pope was, it is true, a ruler
of a temporal kingdom, but above all else he was the ruler of the
Church in which the morality taught by Christ should be supreme.
There could be no compromise. The Church must return to its
primitive purity. If Avignon was a stumbling-block, the Pope
should abandon the city—yet another reason why he should
return to Rome.

Only a few people took any notice of Catherine in Avignon.
These were, first of all, her own fellow citizens, employed by the
Curia, then the Tuscans and Italians, who venerated Saints, and

220 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

with whom she could speak in her own tongue. When she con¬
versed with the Provencals or with the French she had to have an
interpreter, and this made her talks less intimate and less frequent.
Her disciples, however, spread the fame of her extraordinary life
and of the diplomatic mission entrusted to her by the Florentines;
Gregory XI also no doubt extolled her intellectual and spiritual
qualities.

Soon after her arrival three very eminent prelates went to see
her—possibly sent by the Pope. At first, by way of introduction,
they expressed their surprise at finding a woman employed as
Ambassadress by the Florentines in such a delicate and important
matter as the cause of peace; then they came to what mattered
most to them—an examination of her faith. The interrogation was
long and detailed: the results favourable to Catherine. Probably
she told them she was acting under direct orders from God
Himself, and perhaps she spoke as a prophetess, imparting to these
dignitaries some of her own flaming ardour, so that when
Giovanni Terzo at one point intervened to support Catherine,
they said they preferred to listen to her. Stefano Maconi, reporting
this interrogation, leaves us to infer that she spoke with confidence
and humility, with precision and with charity, quoting facts and
events, explaining everything clearly and without reserve. The
few questions that Maconi records are insignificant; obviously
others were put to her, more searching and more profound; but
Catherine in her simplicity, founded on the Catholic faith, and
with her own clear and charitable activity to speak for her,
passed the ordeal successfully. The doctrinal test must have been
the subject of talk by members of the Curia, for the next day
Maestro Francesco, a Sienese physician in attendance on the Pope,
observed to Maconi that if those three priests, the most learned of
the whole Curia, ‘had not found Catherine well grounded (in her
faith) tliis journey to Avignon would have been the worst journey
she had ever made’.

The external events of her life during these weeks in Avignon,
all recorded by her early biographers, are of secondary importance.
On one occasion she revealed the sinful life of the mistress of one
of the most eminent prelates. This woman came to see her with a
great show of piety and compunction, but Catherine could not
bear to touch her and kept her face averted. Fra Raimondo, who

AVIGNON 221

was probably acting as interpreter, was surprised at this and asked
her for the reason. The Saint declared that from this lady, who
looked so respectable, there emanated such a pestiferous stench
of sin that it was unbearable. Fra Raimondo, on making certain
enquiries, received information that confirmed Catherine’s judg¬
ment.

In the Pope’s own family there was great curiosity about the
Sienese mystic. Gregory’s sister became her devout admirer, but
his niece Elise, the wife of Robert de Turenne, acted otherwise.
One day she came with a group of curious onlookers to see
Catherine in an ecstasy, and, refusing to believe her insensibility
to physical sensations, she pierced her foot with a large pin—the
same test that many people had applied to Catherine in Siena—
inflicting such a wound that Catherine was lame for several days
after.

Her disappointment at finding herself so rudely set aside by the
Florentine Ambassadors was painful—but not overwhelming.
The work she still had to do for the saving of souls required
strength, energy and determination, hi the letters she wrote to
the Pope from Avignon we no longer find the half-wistful, half-
exultant appeal for pardon and peace for the Florentines, but
there is still the hammer-like insistence on the necessity of his
return to Florence, and of the proclamation of the Crusade. She
continued to pray for peace with Florence, but this was no longer
the main object of her activity. She must have heard of the appeals
presented to the Pope in favour of the Florentines by Benedetto
Gambacorta, the Pisan Ambassador, and by the Ambassadors of
Lucca, of the Pope’s rejection of these appeals, and of his reply:
‘Like Christ, I, His Vicar on earth, love peace; but it is my duty
to offer it to the contrite of heart, not to those who refuse to make
just restitution. Let the Florentines restore the lands of the Holy
See and compensate for the grave losses they'have inflicted; then
the Church will at once receive them in her motherly embrace.
For me to act otherwise would be like giving an encouragement
to sin.’

Catherine approved of this dignified and severe reply, because
it agreed with her own wish that Florence should receive pardon
only after begging for it humbly from the Father of all Christians.
She did not seek any further contact with the Florentine Ambas-

222 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

sadors who were now, according to Cristoforo da Piacenza,
‘panting after peace*—she abandoned them to their own efforts,
probably convinced that their official parleys with the two
Cardinals, chosen by the Pope to treat with them, would bear no
results.

Meanwhile she spoke with Cardinals, bishops, prelates of all
ranks, enlarging her political horizon. Until now she had been
occupied solely with the relations between the Tuscan cities and
the Holy See; now she turned her attention to the Hundred Years*
War, and other questions concerning France. She spoke with
French princes, wrote to some also, and admonished them, and
sent a letter to Charles V, King of France. Her religious status was
officially strengthened; on July ist Gregory granted her the
privilege of possessing a portable altar, with permission to have
Mass celebrated in any suitable place, if necessary even before
dawn; on August 17th he confirmed Raimondo da Capua as
Catherine’s spiritual director, a post already assigned to him by the
General of the Dominican Order.

The relations between Gregory and Catherine became, spiritu-
/ ally, more intimate. He believed in her revelations, and when in
difficult moments he needed a sign from God to indicate his way,
he sent messages to the Saint, begging her to implore illumination
from God.

Somebody told him that he would be killed if he returned to
Rome. This threat perplexed him temporarily, and at once,
^ through Fra Raimondo da Capua, he begged the Tertiary to pray
for him and to find out the will of God in this matter. Catherine
prayed ‘before and after Holy Communion*, but saw in the future
‘neither death nor any other peril’, so she wrote to him that the
real danger for him lay in listening to these evil counsellors; there¬
fore he must not draw back, but put his plan into action. ‘Let
there be in you such a fire of charity that you may not hear the
voices of incarnate devils; nor listen to the advice of perverse
counsellors, grounded in self-love, who, as I understand it, want
to frighten you, telling you that you will be killed; they say this
to frighten you off your project.* But he must banish all servile
fear: ‘I tell you, on behalf of Jesus Christ, most sweet and holy
Father, that you must not fear for any reason whatever; come
confidently, put all your trust in sweet Jesus Christ; for, when you

AVIGNON 223

do what you must, God will be for you, and no one shall stand
against you. . . . Take up the weapon of the most Holy Cross,
which is the safeguard and the life of Christians; let those speak
who will, and hold fast to your holy purpose.’

There has been much discussion about the character of Gregory
XI, and the influence Catherine had over him. This is not the
place to continue this discussion, but nevertheless it seems neces¬
sary to stress the fact that Gregory was not at all a weak man, as
he has been sometimes represented. Certainly he had neither the
energy of Gregory VII nor the powerfulness of Innocent III, nor
had he the ambitous will of Boniface VIII, but he was a just and
tenacious man. Some historians have failed to understand him,
mistaking his sense of justice and his long-suffering patience for
weakness, and his constancy and firmness for obduracy. He was
very frank, he disliked sudden decisions, he reflected at great
length about questions concerning the State and tried to avoid
violent clashes, but when it behoved him to act he acted wisely
and struck boldly and authoritatively at the Church’s enemies.
He was a perfect example of a Christian law-giver and politician,
judging all things not by a personal standard of his own, but
according to the law of Christ and the welfare of men. He loved
peace more than glory, and justice more than power. He was not
a genius, nor had he an original message to deliver; as Pope he had
some defects, but his righteousness was an example to all, and his
dignity praiseworthy. He played his part in the making of peace
between France and England, between the Empire and Hungary,
and between Bavaria and Savoy; he forced the Visconti to observe
truces and make a peace, he subdued the power of Florence, suc¬
ceeded in winning back the Church lands, and crowned all with
his own return, and the return of the Curia, to Rome.

It is true that every time Gregory XI fixed a date for his
departure from Avignon a series of events prevented him from
carrying out his plan; but to postpone is not to desist, and his
purpose always remained firm. In fact, he saw more and more
clearly the urgent pohtical and religious necessity for the return
of the Holy See to Rome. Already in February 1375 Cardinal
Orsini, when replying to the Duke of Anjou, who in the name
of France and for the sake of the Church was urging Gregory to
stay in Avignon, had frankly expounded the pohtical motives that

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

224

obliged the Papal Court to transfer itself to the Eternal City:
‘What lands has the Pope in France? hi Italy, instead, he has many
provinces, and all the property of God’s Church; his own land is
therefore Italy, and if Italy is divided and torn by rebellion and
strife, the fault is that of the former Popes who forsook her for so
long. When was it known that a prince could rule his subjects well
from a distance? Let the King of France try going away from his
own lands and possessions, and he will soon see defections and
strife in his State. Hence the urgent need of our return to Rome.
Only by so doing will the Pope re-establish his authority in his
own lands.’ Just about the same time Gregory XI had explained
his own intentions intimately to Giovanni di Cario, who had tried
with many arguments to persuade him to stay: ‘How could I stay
if God wills me to go ? Last year I did not obey God’s will, and I
fell ill and was near to death; it is my duty to go to Rome, for the
natural seat of the Church is there.’ This profound conviction
enabled him to hold to his resolution, strengthened as it was,
moreover, by political reasons of primary importance, that
Gregory could not afford to ignore. His return was sure to win
back the rebellious States, the Florentines would be forced to come
to terms, and then he would be able to devote himself to the
realisation of his dearest project, the Crusade, and the reform of
ecclesiastical morals. Therefore, in 1376, he gave orders that
preparations should be made in Rome for his return, and at
Avignon for his imminent departure.

It was, however, a grave matter to leave for ever a city where
the Papacy had resided for nearly three-quarters of a century,
during which time vast, vital and deeply rooted interests had
grown up between the Curia and Avignon. These could not be
wiped out at a blow. The Pope felt bound to his own land; the
Cardinals were, for the most part, Limousins or French; there
were close tics with the King of France; many of the prelates were
French or had French connections. Avignon had become a wealthy
and luxurious city under the Papal rule; life was gay, and no one
lived in fear of revolts or civil strife. What would become of
Avignon without the Popes ? Rome, deprived of the Head of the
Church, had fallen into decay, spiritually and materially, had
lived on her past glory, and in the hope of the Pope’s return, as a
means of regaining some of her lost dignity; nevertheless, she had

AVIGNON 225

splendid traditions behind her, and it was natural she should wish
to become rich and great again, under the Papal rule. But once
the Papal Court had left Avignon, what hope could the city have
of ever becoming anything but a small provincial town, whose
sole boast would be that of having given hospitality to the Papacy
for seventy years? The King of France would no longer be able to
influence the Holy See as he had done during its long sojourn in
Avignon. Finally, the Pope’s parents, brothers and sisters, and all
his other relatives who owed their authority and wealth to him,
were naturally averse to the idea of his departure. Opposition
arose from almost everyone, high and low, at this threat to
Avignon, and every expedient was resorted to, to induce him to
desist from his purpose. Some tried to dissuade him with eloquent
and imploring words, others tried threats. Some foretold a sinister
future in Rome, others went so far as to prophesy apocalyptic
disasters. They all tried to intimidate him, invented plots against
him, or plans to poison him, and foretold catastrophes for the
Church. It was pointed out to him that Italy was in revolt, and
therefore it would be impossible for the Curia to function there.
Urban V also had gone to Rome, but, sadly disillusioned, had
been forced to return to Avignon which was, after all, the ideal
land for the Vicar of Christ. Those who did not dare to speak or
write openly, insinuated whispered fears, or distressing news, or
wrote to him anonymously. Gregory’s determination remained
firm, but the growth of the opposition naturally perturbed him.
The step he was about to take was very grave; he felt it to be his
bounden duty. But could he be sure it was really God’s will? His
own feelings might be deceiving him. The advice and arguments,
the fiery speeches, even the threats of those who sought to dissuade
him, were prompted by material interests—but they might also
be a means which God was using to avert a disaster for the
Church. He was seized by religious scruples that worried and
agitated him. He lost his self-confidence, entrusted his life to God,
and implored Him to reveal His will. He needed the sure vision
of a Saint, and begged Catherine, the seer, to enlighten him.

His own Cardinals were now opposing him. They wrote to
him that before making any decision involving the Church he
must seek the advice of the Sacred College, and they quoted
Clement IV, who always took counsel with his Cardinals before

226 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

acting, and followed their advice even when their wishes were
contrary to his own. This was an attempt, already made several
times before in the history of the Church, to limit the authority
of the Pope and increase that of the College of Cardinals. Gregory
understood the gravity of this request, and informed Catherine
of it, begging her to pray over it and seek light from God.
Catherine judged the Cardinals’ letter very severely, and urged
the Pope to take rapid and energetic action. ‘Alas! most holy
Father, they quote Pope Clement IV to you, but they do not
quote Pope Urban V, who, when he was in doubt about a
decision then consulted his Cardinals, but when the matter was
clear and manifest to him, as it is to you about your departure, of
which you are quite convinced, he did not ask for their advice,
but followed his own plan and did not care even if they were all
against him.’ She reminded him that he had already once followed
his Cardinals’ advice, which was diabolical, and the revolts in his
own lands were the consequence; he must not linger now, but
hasten to depart. The Cardinals were prejudiced by their attach¬
ment to ‘honours, positions, pleasures’, and wished to deceive
him; he must now turn the tables on them by means of a holy
ruse; he must pretend to be prolonging his stay in Avignon, and
instead he must leave at once. ‘Go, go without fear.’

In this letter we see the prompting hand of someone who had
known Urban V intimately, and this was perhaps Raimondo da
Capua. Gregory must have felt relieved when he received her
advice, sharp and decisive as a sword. A herald of God now
assured him, in God’s name, that his decision was necessary and
just.

However, those who sought to deter him did not give up the
struggle lightly. Aware of his strong religious feeling, they knew
that the words of a Saint would have more power over him than
anything else; they hoped in this way to neutralise his will, or at
least to make him defer his departure. A ‘Saint’ who, as far as we
know, preferred to remain anonymous, wrote warning him that
if he went to Rome he would find there the poison that would
end his life. Gregory himself must have doubted the sincerity of
this letter, for he sent it at once to Catherine.

A few days previously she had found words of scorn for the
Cardinals—now she seemed to have a tongue of fire to bum and

AVIGNON 227

demolish the pseudo-Saint. Who is it, she says, who is writing
to you now? He robes himself in sanctity, but he is a poisonous
man, a devil. He acts towards you as the devil does with the soul,
when ‘under the guise of virtue and pity he pours in poison. . . .
So methinks this devil incarnate is doing, for he has written to
you under a guise of pity and with the fame of sanctity, that is, he
writes as if the warning came from a holy, just man—and instead
it comes from those wicked men, the devil’s counsellors, who are
out to destroy the well-being of Christian folk, and the reform of
Holy Church, lovers of themselves, seekers after their own good.’
Do you want a proof that this fellow is not a Saint? Consider the
chief argument he uses to deter you from your proposal: he urges
you to have a care for your life, which he says you would lose if
you went to Rome. Now, a real Saint attaches no importance to
material life; and since he affirms that to return to your own natural
seat is a good, holy, and spiritual action, how can he, immediately
after, advise you not to attempt such a thing, for fear of bodily
harm? For the good of souls and for love of Holy Church we must
be ready even to die, and ‘it is not the habit of God’s servants, for
any corporal or temporal injury, even if life itself were at stake,
to be willing to abandon spiritual activity; for if they had done so,
no one would ever have arrived at his end, for it is the persever¬
ance of good and holy desire in good works that is crowned with
glory, as it deserves, and not with confusion’. I assure you, she
goes on, that in the ways of holiness, this fellow is less than a child;
let him go to school and study his trade. He is, moreover, a
simpleton; in fact, he tells you to send trusty men to Rome, who,
if they search in the shops there, will find the poison intended for
you. What a wonderful discovery! Have the apothecaries in
Avignon no poison? In all the cities of the world there are
apothecaries that sell poisons, and naturally they are to be found
in Rome too. But I tell you that this writer is ‘the sower of the
worst poison that has been sowed in Holy Church for many a
long year, for he wants to prevent you from doing what God
requires of you, and what you must do’. The real poison for you
and for the Church would be to follow the advice of such an evil
counsellor. But you may not, you must not withdraw from your
intention, because such a withdrawal ‘would cause a scandal, and
a temporal and spiritual revolt, if men found in you falsehood

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

228

where they looked for truth; for once you have announced and
determined your course of action, if people were to find the
contrary, there would be the gravest scandal, disquiet and error
in all hearts’. He advises you to live ‘rather among the infidels and
Saracens than among the people of Rome or Italy’. And what
docs he know of Italy? Catherine, the Italian, is inspired by love
of her native land to express herself with an image which is full
of the poetry of the maternal instinct: ‘Methinks he wants to do
with you, as the mother to her suckling child whom she wishes to
wean. She puts something bitter on her breast, wishing him to
suck the bitterness before the milk, so that for fear of the bitter
taste he may give up sucking, because the child can be dissuaded
by a bitter taste more easily than by anything else.’

The milk, in Catherine’s metaphor, is the grace of God which
will surely follow the Pope’s return to Rome, and the bitterness
comes from the more or less adverse events that may occur before
he arrives in the Eternal City. ‘And I pray you, on behalf of Christ
crucified, not to be a timid child, but manly. Open your mouth
and swallow the bitterness for the sake of the sweetness that comes
after.’ Drastic action, and such as God wills. ‘I insist also that the
writer of that letter is no Saint; it was dictated by the servants of
the devil who live in the Curia near to you; but you will leave
Avignon, and so you will find peace, repose and quiet of mind
and body, and you will be able to set on foot the Crusade and
reform the Church. May I see you? Could you grant me an
audience? I am about to depart, but first I would like to see you
again.’

This letter must have been very welcome to Gregory XI, be¬
cause in it she expressed the will of God about his departure from
Avignon. If she showed also some lack of understanding of his
own scruples, he paid no attention to that. Catherine entered into
ecstasies, spoke with Christ, saw the unfolding of human destiny
through the eyes of God: that was enough for him. And now this
seer and prophetess asserted, with absolute confidence, that his
will was in conformity with Christ’s; he felt his affection for
Catherine and his confidence in her revelations increase.

During her stay in Avignon Catherine met many people, both
Religious and lay, of outstanding importance; one of these was
the Duke Louis of Anjou, who had been asked by his brother, the

AVIGNON

229

King of France, to dissuade the Pope from returning to Rome.
This prince played a part of some significance in the history of
France and of Italy, using his intelligence in the service of his
country, and his shrewdness to further his own ambitious schemes.
He was a valiant soldier and an eloquent speaker. He loved his
own land and eagerly co-operated with his brother in his efforts to
consolidate his kingdom. He desired a kingdom for himself, even
if it had to be a small one, but nevertheless he did not neglect
French interests. As Lieutenant General of the Languedoc, he
administered the province wisely. His wife was the daughter of a
Saint, and he himself was on very friendly terms with Pope
Gregory. Although cold and calculating by nature, he was not
alien to enthusiasms. His religion was somewhat formal, but he
was not insensible to promptings that seemed to be the voice of
God. Rarely frank himself, and not always loyal, yet he recog¬
nised and appreciated frankness and loyalty. Thirsty for power, he
intrigued to obtain it, and when he had obtained it he died without
achieving glory.

Catherine certainly influenced him considerably, partly because
she was so different from himself. Her way of speaking, so spon¬
taneous and so inflamed with heavenly zeal, attracted him; at
least for some weeks Louis of Anjou was her devoted admirer.
We do not know whether she succeeded in kindling in him a
flame of love, or at least of holy ambition, for the Crusade, but
she may well have done so. He was above all a warrior, and when
Catherine urged him, with all the persuasive and impulsive words
at her command, to place himself at the head of an undertaking
so glorious as the Crusade, she may have flattered his ambition for
power and glory. Even the most frigid and calculating statesmen
may be at times won over to attempt daring plans. They fail to
see the difficulties always inherent in grandiose undertakings, and,
conscious of their own energy and will-power, feel confident of
success. Louis of Anjou, the schemer, may have sincerely believed,
for a time, in the possibility of a Crusade led by himself. Certainly
the idea of the holy expedition was not now very popular in the
Courts of Europe, and the various princes were indifferent about
it; yet Louis was, at least for a time, moved to express faith in it.
After all, was it not possible for Gregory XI to rouse the Christian
world, and for Catherine to fill rulers and populations with

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

230

enthusiasm for the campaign against the infidels ? It might become
an undertaking of gigantic proportions, supported by general
enthusiasm, and he would be the ‘condottiero’, the conqueror;
then at last he would have a kingdom and perhaps a greater one
than Majorca, to which he was laying claim. Thus the Crusade
stimulated his ambition and his ambition encouraged his belief in
the Crusade. While this confidence lasted, which was but for a
short time, he asked Catherine to write a letter to Charles the
Wise, King of France, to invite him to make a speedy peace with
England, so as to free himself from further anxiety on that score,
and be able to support with all his might the Crusade, of which
Louis would be the leader. And he also begged Catherine to go
with him to Paris to convince the King of the necessity of the holy
expedition.

While the Duke of Anjou became an admirer of Catherine, she
believed she had found in him the man she had long been looking
for, the military leader of the imminent Crusade, and in her joy
she wrote at once, characteristically, to Charles V: ‘Methinks that
your brother, the Lord Duke of Anjou, will undertake, for Christ’s
sake, the labour of the holy enterprise’, and also, with joy, pride
and confidence, to Gregory XI: ‘I know that I believe you said,
when I was in the presence of Your Holiness, that a princely
leader was necessary; otherwise you did not see how the thing
could be done. Here is the leader, Holy Father! The Duke of
Anjou is willing, for love of Christ and in reverence for the Holy
Cross, with loving and holy desire to take up this labour, which
seems light to him because of the love he feels for the holy
expedition; it will seem most sweet to him, provided that you,
my most holy Father, will be pleased to appoint him. Alas! for
sweet Jesus’ sake, do not delay any longer before you put into
effect your holy desire and sweet will! Know, know how to use
the gifts and treasures of Christ, that he sends to you now, while
you have still time.’

It was then August 25th and in the Papal city the preparations
for departure were so advanced that a few days later, according
to Cristoforo da Piacenza, no matters of state were any longer
discussed in the Curia because everyone was too busy getting
ready for the journey to Rome. The Pope’s mind was obviously
made up, and this was at last recognised by the King of France

AVIGNON

231

and his representatives, who gave up their opposition. Madame
Dcnis-Boulet shrewdly observes that by this time Charles V,
having been victorious in his war with England and unified most
of France under his rule, had no longer any absolute need of the
Pope in Avignon, and so made merely formal protests. ‘I wonder
whether the King of France, and the ecclesiastical dignitaries who
opposed the departure, really thought they could prevent it with
their theatrical show of opposition. Gregory would have dis¬
honoured himself for ever if at the last moment he had yielded
to such arguments. Possibly, they merely wished to prove to the
population of that region that had battened upon the Papal Court,
that up to the last moment they had done all in their power to
prevent the Pope from leaving/ Nevertheless there is no doubt
that, even if Catherine was not responsible for changing the
intentions of the French King’s representatives, she helped to per¬
suade the Duke of Anjou to desist from his mission; he became,
indeed, so favourable to Gregory’s decision that he even lent him
60,000 florins for the journey to Rome. Of course he may have
done this so as to bind the Pope more closely to himself, and to
ensure his support in the achievement of his own ambitions. But
it may also be that the Angevin prince was really moved by
Catherine’s words, and so in all sincerity supported and aided the
Pope’s return to Rome, for the good of the universal Church.

Catherine accepted the Duke’s invitation to go to his castle of
Roqucmaurc ‘to console his wife, the Duchess’, says Bartolomeo
Dominici. This ‘consolation’ probably refers to the Duchess
Marie’s longing to have a son, and a son was bom to her in
October of the following year. Catherine remained in the castle
for three days, and must have edified her hosts by her religious
life, clear as daylight, her ecstasies, her almost ethereal way of
living and her continual prayers. Louis of Anjou himself admired
her greatly. In the frequent and familiar talks he had with her he
could not but feel how close was her union with the divine. He
was fascinated by her, and would willingly have escorted her to
Paris, to see his brother Charles V, to try to interest him in the
Crusade—but Catherine declined this invitation. Although the
holy expedition was so dear to her heart, and the King of France’s
part in it might prove decisive, yet she would not go so far from
Avignon, lest the intrigues and snares of the Court might become

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

232

dangerous, and the insistent appeals to remain might influence
Pope Gregory. She felt she must stay near the Pope, ready to
oppose any further postponement of his journey to Rome. The
departure was now very near; twenty-six galleys and four hun¬
dred and twenty-six ships were at Marseilles awaiting the Pope
and his Court.

Gregory had decided that he would leave Avignon for ever on
September 8th; the date was postponed again. Catherine must
have trembled—but the delay was brief. On the 10th or nth
September the Pope wished to canonisejohn III, Duke of Brittany;
on September 12th there was to be a public Consistory during
which he would bless the whole Court and solemnly declare the
transference of the Curia from Avignon to Rome. By now even
the most optimistic prelates had lost all hope of the Pope remain¬
ing in Avignon. The various and cunning arguments by which
they had sought to dissuade him had been vain, and the obstacles
placed in his path had proved useless. The French King’s brothers
had ceased their opposition, the Cardinals were busy packing; but
the city was agitated, irritated, disconsolate and still determined
to hold on to the Pope. His own relations besieged him with
anguished prayers to remain. Where reasons of state had failed
to move him perhaps the tears and despair of parents, brothers,
sisters, nephews might avail. Gregory XI seems to have been
almost on the point of yielding. His grief at leaving his own land,
and the distress of his dearest kin, must have sapped his moral
strength; yet he could not now withdraw. ‘Whoever does not
leave father, mother, brothers and sisters for love of Me is not
worthy of Me’: the words of Christ seemed engraved on his soul;
he resisted all prayers and subdued his own emotions. But he felt
terribly alone; he needed a final word of certainty. For the last
time he sent for the Sienese Saint, to listen again to her inspired
words. He wished once more to strengthen his resolve by hearing
that his return to Rome was according to the will of God. He
called her to him. We know very little about this last interview
but, according to Bartolomeo Dominici, when the Pope asked
her if it was right to persist in going to Rome in the face of so
much opposition, Catherine at first hesitated to reply, excusing
herself by saying that it was not seemly for a poor little woman
to give advice to the Pope. To which he answered: ‘I am not

AVIGNON 233

asking you for advice, but for a revelation of the will of God’.
Then Catherine reminded Gregory XI of a vow that he had made
at the time of his election to the Papal throne. No one knew of
this, except a very few people in whom he had confided. At once
the Pope thought that if Catherine knew of it, it must be by direct
revelation. It was therefore his absolute duty to depart, and noth¬
ing must be allowed to stand in the way of his decision.

On September 13th, to Catherine's great joy, Gregory XI left
Avignon for Marseilles, where the galleys awaited him, ready to
set sail for Italy.

Q

Chapter IX

INTER ODIA CARITAS

Shortly after the Pope’s departure Catherine herself and her
Family set out from Avignon to return to Italy. On September
12th Fra Raimondo da Capua had received the Pope’s gift to
Catherine: a hundred florins for the expenses of their return
journey. It may be wondered why Gregory XI did not invite
Catherine to return by sea with him. Several explanations are
possible; none is sure. Perhaps he did invite her, and she declined
the invitation; or perhaps he did not wish her to travel in his own
party, lest she should be too gravely shocked by the immorality
of the Court; or again, because being Italian, of humble birth and
a great enthusiast for the return of the Holy See to Rome, she
may have been unpopular with the higher clergy; or—and this
seems the most plausible supposition—because Gregory XI con¬
sidered her work for him now accomplished, and wished her to
use her energy in the saving of souls and in propaganda for the
Crusade, his own daring project, in the countries through which
she would pass. Catherine may have remained in Avignon in
continual prayer for him until she heard he had gone on board his
ship on the River Rhone, and even after this she may have wished
to linger a little in the city to please Neri di Landoccio, who
enjoyed his stay in Avignon and was reluctant to leave the city:
‘I beg you for the love of Christ Crucified not to do as you did in
Avignon, where you were unwilling to make any preparations
for our departure’, his friend Stefano Maconi wrote to him
months later.

Catherine and her disciples travelled through Toulon to
Varazze, which they reached on October 3rd, and then went on
to Genoa. We hear of her performing miracles in all these cities,
but those who report them seem unreliable witnesses. In Genoa

234

INTER ODIA CARITAS

235

the Saint and her Family were the guests of the noble lady Orietta
Scotti, between whom and Catherine there arose a friendship that
we find still flourishing at the end of 1378, or at the beginning of
1379, in the sad days of the schism, when Catherine wrote to
Orietta a letter that was like a hymn to patience.

We cannot trace all Catherine’s activity in Genoa, but we
know that she met the monks of San Girolamo della Cervaia, on
the mountain above Portofmo, for later on she wrote to them all,
or to their Prior, very edifying letters. She cured her own dis¬
ciples, Neri di Landoccio Pagliaresi, Stcfano Maconi, Fra Giovanni
Terzo and Fra Bartolomeo Dominici as soon as they fell ill, more
or less seriously, of the plague. Pagliaresi was on the point of
death, to the great consternation of all his fellow disciples, who,
led by Stefano Maconi, appealed to Catherine to intervene when
the doctors gave up hope of his recovery. She seemed somewhat
unwilling, but yielded to Stefano’s entreaties, and prayed insis¬
tently to God for the youth’s recovery. He recovered. Shortly
afterwards Stefano himself showed symptoms of the plague, but
was cured by a few words from Catherine.

At Genoa Catherine had news of her mother Lapa, who was
distressed at her daughter’s protracted absence. She heard also,
perhaps, of the foolish talk there had been in Siena, among
Dominican Sisters of the Third Order, and certain clerics too,
about her prolonged wanderings. So she wrote to her mother
lovingly, but with characteristic firmness, authority and con¬
fidence: ‘You know I have to follow the will of God; and I know
you want me to do this. It was His will that I should make this
journey, which has not been without its own mysterious and
useful rewards. It is His will that I have obeyed, and not the will
of any man, and whoever says the contrary is false.’

There is no proof, historically speaking, that she met
Gregory XI in Genoa. He had disembarked there on October 18th,
with some members of his Court, and remained there for some
days, not only to rest after his voyage, but to dedicate himself at
once, and without delay, to the affairs of Italy. He received the
Duke of Brunswick, husband of Queen Giovanna of Naples, and
the Count of Virtu; he spoke to the Doge and the rulers of the
Genoese Republic. The voyage had exhausted him because for
sixteen days, between Marseilles and Genoa, the weather had been

236 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

wild and stormy. Winds and tempests had unleashed their fury,
as if the very elements were protesting at the Pope’s departure
from Avignon. Many times the ships had had to put in for shelter
at the nearest port; the Cardinals and prelates were full of dismay.
Nevertheless, Gregory’s determination to push on to Rome had
never faltered. He needed the help of this noble Genoese Republic,
which welcomed the returning Pontiff with such effusions of joy.
He wanted the Genoese to co-operate with him in the plans he
was about to put into execution; and, with this desire uppermost,
he began at once his talks with the rulers of the State. He made
considerable demands. According to Mirot, he requested that the
King of Cyprus’ brother, held a prisoner by the Genoese, should
be set free; he wished the Republic to enter into a League with
him; he asked for a loan of two hundred thousand florins, and
two hundred crossbowmen; he demanded the expulsion of all
Florentines from Genoese territory. These demands were all
necessary for the prestige of the Papacy and the success of his
Italian policy; but they conflicted with the political and com¬
mercial interests of Genoa, and were therefore refused. This was
Gregory’s first political setback, and came as soon as he landed in
Italy. Although he was saddened by it, his hopes of restoring
strength and greatness to the Papacy in Italy were undiminished.
Many of the Cardinals wished to return to Provence, and it seems
that in a Consistory held in Genoa they voted for this, but
Gregory would not listen to them, and persevered in his intention
to continue the journey to Rome.

In Genoa, in fact, he was not at all the wavering and broken¬
hearted Pope that some writers have loved to present. The testi¬
mony of Fra Securiano da Savona, the only source for this period,
is far from reliable. It is coloured with a cheap romanticism and
evidently written with the intention of capturing the popular
imagination. Gregory is described as a timid man, crushed by
adversity, who visits Catherine secretly by night, imploring her
to give him strength to perform his Papal duties. Various later
biographers, basing their accounts on this source, have concen¬
trated their searchlights only on Catherine, who alone at this
juncture, according to them, commands, decides and triumphs.
But their too obvious apologetic intention is not really compli¬
mentary to her at all: she has enough strength and courage in

INTER ODIA CARITAS

237

herself without needing to be contrasted with a weakling Pope.
Moreover, Gregory’s character was very different from that
attributed to him by these writers, who show a lack of literary
honesty in making him appear other than he really was. It is cer¬
tainly true that he believed in divine revelations, as he showed in
his dealings first with St Brigid of Sweden and later with St
Catherine; but once he was convinced that a certain line of con¬
duct was in accordance with the will of God, nothing could pre¬
vent him from persisting in his intention. On various occasions he
showed that he felt himself to be a King, as well as a Pope, and
knew how to rule his Court. We must presume, therefore, that
the account of the secret nocturnal interview, described by
Securiano da Savona and amplified and emphasised by later
biographers, originated in a misinterpretation of the prayer com¬
posed by Catherine in Genoa—a prayer that the Pope might not
yield to the persuasions of some of his Cardinals, and return to
Avignon. This prayer was at once known to some of the Saint’s
admirers, and was perhaps sent on to the Pope himself. It was a
fine eloquent prayer, but couched in general terms, inspired by the
news that was then rife in Genoa about the dreadful voyage the
Papal Court had endured, and the unwillingness of some of the
Cardinals to continue the journey. The note preceding the prayer
determines its place and circumstances; otherwise we might think
it had been composed elsewhere and at another time. There is
nothing in it to indicate Gregory’s state of mind beyond a refer¬
ence to his ‘tardiness’, which might displease the Eternal Charity;
but ever since Catherine had taken to writing to the Pope she had
thought and said quite plainly that he was tardy. It is true that in
this prayer she warned Christ’s Vicar ‘not to be frightened by any
adversity’, but this has no particular reference and need not neces¬
sarily be connected widi the journey to Rome, nor even with the
opposition of the Cardinals and prelates at that moment. It might
refer to all the struggles which Gregory, as a man and as a Pope,
had to face, and would have to face in the future.

Although, from the historical point of view, no valid argu¬
ments or witnesses can assure us that this interview took place,
nevertheless we may follow a flint tradition and believe that the
Pope did meet Catherine, in the midst of the intense political
labours of those days. He may have granted an interview to her

238 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

and her interpreter, Fra Raimondo, and if so he probably treated
them both affectionately, remembering that Catherine’s eloquence
in speech and writing might be of the greatest service to him in
the furthering of his Italian policy. All this remains in the realm of
pure conjecture, however, for the Saint’s biographers and
travelling companions tell us nothing about it.

Gregory left Genoa on October 26th, and about ten days later
Catherine left for Pisa, where she arrived towards the end of
November. From Pisa she sent Stefano Maconi to Siena, to his
mother, who was anxious about her son’s protracted absence,
while she received the visits of her own mother, Lapa, and of Fra
Tommaso della Fonte, and other disciples who had come from
Siena.

In Pisa she must have heard a lot of talk about the very recent
ceremonial welcome that Gambacorta, accompanied by his sons
and numerous Ambassadors and prelates of Pisa and Lucca, had
offered the Pope when he disembarked at Leghorn. It had been a
sumptuous festival, with abundant gifts of wines, calves, sheep,
poultry, bread, preserves and wax offered to the Pope, the Car¬
dinals and the ships’ captains.

The Pisan Republic had wished to signify its attachment to the
Holy See in no uncertain manner. Catherine must have rejoiced
on hearing that the Pisans and Lucchesi, although still members of
the anti-Papal League, openly showed their affection for the
Papacy, and so indicated a certain detachment from their ally
Florence. Gambacorta, in conversation with the Pope, pursued his
idea of peace between the Tuscan cities and the Holy See, and
hinted at the advantages that would accrue from a possible recon¬
ciliation between the Pope and Florence, but Gregory XI ‘did not
wish to hear even a word about that’—which must have distressed
Gambacorta. Speaking of this later on to Catherine he tried to
persuade her to second his efforts for a speedy peace. But Catherine,
during her short stay in Pisa, was chiefly occupied in preaching
the Crusade against the infidels, the reform of ecclesiastical morals,
and the need for all men to steep themselves in the Blood of
Christ—although she never neglected any occasion to find out the
attitude of the population towards the supreme Pontiff.

At Pisa she received wistful appeals from her ‘little son’,
Stefano Maconi, who felt lost and melancholy without his ‘most

INTER ODIA CARITAS

239

sweet Mother’, and impatient requests to return at once to Siena
because he missed her so much, and because her other disciples
also were anxiously awaiting their Mother. This anxiety, thought
Catherine, was not worthy of true Christians. Stefano was
evidently still attached to the world of die senses, while he who
lives in Christ is not bound by any human affection. How could
she abandon her labours for the salvation of souls, and interrupt
her efforts to promote the welfare of the whole Church, just to
run to him because he felt lonely? He who feels lonely has not
Christ in himself, but is only on the threshold of spiritual life.
Therefore the Saint wrote to her disconsolate disciple a letter full
of affectionate warning, pointing out to him that he did not yet
show the true spirit of Christ: ‘You are only at the beginning’,
she told him, that is, preparing the ground whereon, later, Christ
may build: a hard labour, in fact, the hardest, if truth be told;
‘think that the laying of the foundations is the worst toil of all;
once the foundations are laid the building is soon completed’.
When the foundations were firm he would become another man,
‘able to do all tilings’, no longer attached to the world of the
senses; and all melancholy longing for people and things would
disappear. Now he was ‘weak and fragile as regards the senses’,
but afterwards he would become strong, and in place of his own
will he would put the will of Christ. He must then steep himself
in the fire of divine charity that he would find in the Blood, and
in the Blood he must drown and kill all will of his own. In this
way the inner conflict that agitated and grieved him would be
composed and, in the newly-found wealth of his interior life, he
would desire nothing outside himself. Then he would be ‘strong
and persevering’, overcoming the weakness of his own sensuality,
‘and bitterness will taste sweet to you and warfare bring you
peace’.

We do not know exactly when Catherine returned to Siena—
perhaps towards the end of December, or at the beginning of
January 1377. Her own city does not seem to have taken much
notice of her, although naturally her Family welcomed her with
great rejoicing, and in religious circles she must have been held in
even more reverence than before, because of the rumours that she
was responsible for the Pope’s return to Italy. She took up once
more her apostolic work. Spiritual conversation, prayers, preach-

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

240

ing, colloquies, helping and advising all who came to her, and
reconciling mutually hostile families—these were her daily tasks.
Amidst this continual round of duties she did not fail to keep her¬
self informed, especially through Fra Raimondo, of all that con¬
cerned the Pope’s journey, and the reception he received in the
lands of the Holy See. Nor did she wish to lose all personal con¬
tact with Gregory XI, and whenever the chance occurred she sent
him a letter by the hand of a friend or a devout person who had
business with the Curia.

The Pope had arrived at Cometo on December 6th, and had
been welcomed by a rejoicing crowd ‘three miles long’, who
had gone to meet him, waving olive branches and singing the Te
Deurn. It was a triumphal arrival: the keys of Rome were presented
to him, he was hailed as the bearer of peace, and was entreated for
mercy—yet he was not able to continue his journey to the
Eternal City as he had hoped. It was necessary first that agreement
should be reached between the ‘Banderesi’,j* or Governors of
Rome, and the Cardinals of Ostia and Santa Sabina, the Pope’s
envoys. These negotiations were difficult and took several weeks
to arrange, so that Gregory had to stay at Corneto till January
13th, 1377. Catherine’s letter reached him there, brought to him
by Tommaso di Guelfuccio. It was a characteristic epistle: as
Christ’s Vicar Gregory must be stalwart in travail and adversity.
He must bring peace to Christians ‘in whatever way your con¬
science will allow you’. He must wage war on the infidels. But the
passage in Catherine’s letter that must have touched the Pope most
was that concerning Siena. It was true, she said, that the city had
joined the Anti-Papal League, but not of its own will; there were
hundreds and thousands of Sienese who disapproved of the pact,
although they had been forced to accept it. And since they
grieved over it now, Catherine entreated the Pope to pardon the
poor city: ‘where they look to you as to a Father, hope in you,
believe in you. Be loving with this wretched little city, which has
always been a child of Your Holiness, and has been constrained by
necessity to do things that displeased it. The people think they
were obliged to do so. You yourself must excuse them to Your
Holiness, so that you may catch them with the bait of love.’

f The Banderesi (Bannerets) were the military leaders of the various ‘rioni’ or wards
of Rome, and the real rulers of the Republic. The Pope was merely their titular Prince.

INTER ODIA CARITAS

t377

241

In these days a weighty matter occupied Catherine’s thought.
She had gathered around her numerous men and women disciples t/
whom she dominated completely, but who were not linked
together by any close bond. At her death they would probably be
dispersed; perhaps there would be no one to continue her work.
Why should she not found a convent for women, an exemplary
convent after her own heart? Already some months previously
she had written to the Abbot of St Antimo: ‘I should like, in so
far as it is possible for you to help me in this, to find a suitable
place where I could found a real and good convent, and place
therein two good Superiors, for we can already lay our hands on
many members for it’. It is natural for an apostle to desire to have
disciples who can, in a certain sense, give continuity to his thought
and action, to wish to draw together into a harmonious com¬
munity people of differing character, temperament and feeling, to
fuse their wills into one common aim, that is, the salvation of
souls and the spiritualising of the world. To enable darkened and
deafened souls to become clear and expressive, and to raise them
from earthly to heavenly ways is, one might say, an essential aim
of a servant of God. After all, this is the purpose of the various
monastic and conventual rules, to continue, in every place and
every age, the slow spiritual transformation of men, to spread the
Christian faith, and make the power of prayer and love an ever
present force.

It is true that the written Rule may become with the passing
of time a formal instrument tending to maintain a merely external
character. To avoid this danger some of the Saints tried to engrave
in their disciples’ hearts a spiritual Rule that could be handed
down with unimpaired vigour, but unwritten Rules become
enfeebled in the course of generations, and in the end are lost to
memory. The written monastic Rules have a cohesive power
which, even when slackened with age, lasts longer and is more
powerful.

We do not know that Catherine thought of transmitting her
own ardent faith through a Rule conceived by herself—or
whether she had in mind the foundation of a convent sui generis,
which should increase and spread in the whole world, so as to
become later on a real and active religious Order. She may have
hoped for this, but it was not a dominating purpose, for when she

242 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

decided to found a convent, it was to be of the Dominican type, a
convent of strict observance, but without new or particular
features. Her own character did not fit her to be a foundress of
convents, like St Teresa of Avila. Although she herself submitted
to the Rule of the Third Order of St Dominic, she felt within her,
more ultimate and more powerful, the Rule given her by Christ
Himself. She was a great Religious, and a humble one, but at the
same time she wished to be free and independent within the ambit
of the Catholic faith—and when she believed a course of action
to be right and good and willed by God, there was no Rule that
could prevent her from carrying it out. This is magnificent Chris¬
tianity, but not meant for the majority of souls, who always need
the help of external laws, and are glad to have tasks assigned to
them from without. Catherine was an out-and-out individualist;
perhaps that is why she did not succeed in founding a convent of a
permanent character.

On her return to Siena with greatly increased fame, very many
people went to her to beg for her counsel and spiritual help, and
she obtained some remarkable conversions. Among these was that
of Nanni di Ser Vanni de’ Savini. The ‘Leggenda Minore’ tells us
he was a man ‘chock-full of worldly prudence, tightly held in the
devil’s snares, and full of hatred for almost everyone’. The Repub¬
lic had made use of him for delicate missions, as when he was sent
in 1366 to Sir John Hawkwood to dissuade him from his inten¬
tion of invading and devastating Sienese territory; in 1368 he was
one of the Twelve rulers; in 1371 he was so actively opposed to
the Commune that he was fined five hundred florins; after this he
lived in close association with the Salimbeni, hated and opposed
by many in Siena. He was hard-natured, restless, turbulent and
vindictive. His shrewdness and capacity for intrigue often enabled
him to outwit his enemies and aroused their fear. Although he
was so quarrelsome, violent, selfish and irreligious, he always kept
in touch with Religious, and it was, in fact, on William of Fleete s
advice that he went to see Catherine. It is true that this visit took
place at a time when he was gravely threatened by the Commune
of Siena, and when his very life was in danger. He may have had a
presentiment that he would not survive the adversities that were
about to overwhelm him. Or perhaps his troubled soul felt the
need of a word of peace and light: he was tired of the continual

INTER ODIA CARITAS 243

struggle, and sought a little inner tranquillity. He may even have
been curious to discover what he could of the secret power of this
Saint of whom so much was told. The fact is that he came to
Catherine, listened to her words, and then opened his heart to her
and became converted. Before he was arrested by order of the
Podesta, either out of spontaneous gratitude, or in reply to a
request from Catherine, he gave her a fortress of his at Belcaro, /
in a half-ruined condition because three years previously, when
in the possession of the Salimbeni, it had been dismantled and in
great part destroyed in an uprising against that family. Here the
new convent was to arise. Catherine busied herself at once over
this project. First of all she begged for Papal permission. While in /
Avignon she had perhaps revealed to Gregory her intention to
found a convent of strict observance, and he may have given her
his encouragement; now it was no longer simply an intention—
the land was there, ready to be built on; the money for building
could easily be found; the future nuns were there already. Gregory
sent her a Bull authorising her to build or institute her convent,
and named as his Commissioner for the purpose Giovanni di
Gano, the Abbot of Sant’ Antimo, Catherine’s friend and confi¬
dant. He also granted the convent a dowry of up to two thousand x
florins. No sooner had Catherine received the Pope’s consent than
she set about obtaining permission for the Commune of Siena.
The Republic would not allow fortified places to change hands
without official permission. Therefore Catherine presented an
instance to the ‘Magnificent Defenders of the People and City of
Siena’, begging to be authorised to receive as a gift the ruined
fortress of Belcaro, and to build therein a convent for nuns. These
authorisations were discussed and granted on January 25th, 1377.

This new form of activity required of Catherine energy, prayer¬
fulness, shrewdness and decision. From what we know of her we
can be sure she concentrated all her powers to achieve her new
purpose: to find the money required for building, to supervise the
labour, prepare the arrangements for conventual life, choose the
Superiors to leave in charge during her own absence, and the new
nuns, postulants, and lay Sisters. Did she desire her convent to
initiate profound reforms among Dominican Sisters, reforms
which might be extended later on to the Friaries of the Domini¬
cans, and to other Orders also? Did she dream of remaining there,

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

,244

at Belcaro, amongst her fellow Sisters, imparting to them her own
ardent and lively faith, and preparing them to carry on her work
after her death? Or was her time at Bclcaro a sort of retreat,
necessary to prepare herself for her approaching end ? She may
have desired to commune more closely with God, and the new
convent may have seemed to her an excellent place for a spiritual
retreat. Some psychological evidence may be adduced for all these
suppositions, but none of them is supported by any factual proof.
All we can affirm is that she had a convent built (or at least par¬
tially built) and that nuns were gathered there, and it was conse¬
crated and received the name of Santa Maria degli Angeli. We
know that she tried to draw to it more nuns, such as the Contessa
Benedetta, daughter of Giovanni d’Agnolino Salimbeni, and that
when she was far away she always recommended the convent to
her ‘children*. ‘1 recommend to you the Convent of Santa Maria
degli Angeli. And do not take any notice of my own absence!
Nay, good children try to do even more when their mother is
not there, wishing to show the love they have for her, and to
win her approval.’ On April 16th, 1377, she wrote from Belcaro
to Gregory XI urging him to make peace and to forgive his
rebellious children, and at the same time she told him that the
convent he had granted to her had been inaugurated. In giving
this news she is full of joy and lively gratitude. But Catherine was
by nature not merely a contemplative; nor was she a nun in the
strict sense of the word. She was continually communing with the
divine, but she needed to work among men, to speak with them,
warn and help them. The work she could do in a cloister was of
too limited a nature. Her new community, composed of dis¬
ciples who revered their Mother and hung on her every word,
failed to satisfy her longing for wider activity, now that she was
accustomed to live in the midst of the most varied folk, speaking
with the Pope, with Cardinals and Princes, with lay disciples too,
and conversing about civil and political as well as religious prob¬
lems. Belcaro would be for her a place of rest, not a permanent
home. She was not intended to ‘stay put’ in a convent; her
^‘temperament’ was not suitable for an abbess; she needed ceaseless
^ activity, and he]* field of action was with crowds invoking her aid,
and with rulers of the State or of the Church, teaching them to
live their Christian faith. She loved meditation, continual prayer,

INTER ODIA CARITAS 245 v

and solitude, but her life had to contain these and something more.
With her, action and contemplation had to alternate harmoniously.
Her ecstasies were more blissful if she could diffuse love among
men, and work for the visible progress of the Church. Not for
her the strict timetable of the cloister, nor a restricted circle in
which her thoughts and actions must revolve. She sacrificed her¬
self for others, but without set times and places. She needed to
know at first hand the sufferings of the world, and to offer herself
every day in sacrifice, as she moved among people who sinned and
suffered. ‘The cell of self-knowledge’ was the refuge of her soul;
but the cell was not bounded by walls, she bore it with her at
every moment of the day and to the most varied places. Although
she had her own intimate and secret rule, yet she had to be
absolute mistress of her own time. And as she was a real apostle
she did not think that others should come to her, but that she
should go to them. This profound need of social life prevented
her from staying long in the convent of Belcaro, and letting it
circumscribe her thought and activity. On April 25th, 1377,
she was in Siena, according to Raimondo da Capua, and four
days later she was visiting the monks of a Cistercian monastery,
probably that of Maggiano; then she was travelling about the
Sienese province, and lingering in the Valle delf Orcia. We hear
of her at Montepulciano, Castiglioncello Trinoro, Rocca a Ten-
tennano, the Abbey of Sant’ Antimo, and Monte Giovi. A large
group of disciples accompanied her; besides fellow Tertiaries
there were Fra Tommaso della Fonte, Fra Bartolomeo Dominici,
Fra Raimondo da Capua, Fra Matteo Tolomei, and among the
laymen Neri di Landoccio, Malavolti, Gabriele Piccolomini, and
Pietro di Giovanni Ventura. Her apostolate was on a grand scale;
she pacified the Tolomei and the Salimbeni, preached peace and
love to all, exorcised the possessed, cured the suffering, and
restored faith to those who had lost it. She converted two poets,
Giacomo dc’ Cavalieri and Anastagio di Ser Guido da Montal-
cino, who from that time onwards extolled her in mellifluous
verse filled with silvery haloes, pearly shadows and roseate
visions. She passed through the Valle dell’ Orcia like an envoy
from God, stirring all who listened to her profound words, learnt
in rapt contemplation of her Creator.

Nevertheless, this mission of hers, though great and holy, was

246 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

like other missions of other and lesser Saints; in her life it may
even he considered as a sort of interval, before her resumption of
more characteristic activity. The letters she wrote in these months
to the Tolomei, the Trincei, the Famese, and the Belforti are
noble and inspiring, full of spiritual strength, but add nothing to
her greatness in our eyes. She herself was aware that her work of
pacification and redemption was of a local and limited character,
and so, although she poured into it all her ardour of soul, she kept
her gaze fixed on the greater work she was anxious to promote:
the pacification of Italy, the proclamation of the Crusade, and to
crown all, the reform of the clergy. She longed to be near the
Pope: ‘I have a great desire to be in the presence of Your Holiness.

I have many things to speak about; I have not come to you, be¬
cause of the many tasks, good and useful for the Church, that I
have had to perform. Peace, peace, for the love of Christ Cruci¬
fied, and no more war—for there is no other way.’ Tonnnaseo
interprets this as a gentle refusal of an invitation from the Pope to
go to him in Rome—thus attributing to her a certain self-confi¬
dence or arrogance with regard to Gregory XI, of which she
showed no trace. Instead, her words should rather be understood
as an offer and a request at the same time: she had expressed herself
in a similar way in Avignon. It was a delicate way of asking for an
interview with the Pope. When she says she has not been to Rome
because of the many tasks undertaken for the good of the Church,
she does not mean: ‘I have too much to do here, to think about
going there’, but rather: ‘I am working for the good of the
Church, and of my own will I do not wish to interrupt this work;
but, nevertheless, if Your Holiness commands it, I will at once
leave everything to come to you.’

In the Valle dell’ Orcia she did not neglect the affairs of Italy,
but prepared plans and treaties for the triumph of the Church.
‘Catherine sent me ... to Rome to Gregory XI with some
excellent treaties... if they had been understood—for God’s Holy
Church’, said Fra Raimondo da Capua. We do not know what
these treaties were, or for whom they were intended, or what was
their scope. We presume that Catherine and her friends were
thinking along political lines as well as simply preaching the
salvation of souls. And this was natural. Whoever preaches ‘Christ
the power of God and the wisdom of God’ preaches an absolute

INTER ODIA CARITAS

247

rule of life, and dierefore a certain way of dealing with other men,
that is, a social system: hence a political system, too. It is not
possible to separate secular from religious life when religion rules
the soul. Only when religious feeling declines do men begin to
feel aware of a social conscience as distinct from the religious
conscience, and independent of this. It is true that Christ said:
‘Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s’, but
when we believe that the whole world must be ruled in a Chris¬
tian way, that the Church is the perfect human organisation and
that the Pope is supreme Head of all Christians—then it is not
possible to separate the religious world from the ethical, political
and social spheres. ‘A ‘totalitarian Catholic’ like Catherine could
not conceive of the State being outside the Church, nor admit
that there could be Christian governments independent of Christ’s
Vicar, or, worse still, in revolt against him. She was therefore
quite sincere when she wrote to the Lords Defenders and the
Captain of the People of the city of Siena. ‘I came for nought else
but to feed on souls and snatch them away from the clutches of the
devil.’ Here, as in the letter, written about the same time, addressed
to Salvi di Messer Piero, she rejected the accusation of political
activity, because for her there was no such thing as politics apart
from religion—for she identified the one with the other. Christ
was the universal King, and she acted in His name. The world at
peace, the triumph of virtue and love—these were what Christ
desired, and she, His bride, had the duty to preach them to all
and in every place, even at the risk of displeasing some rulers. She
had in view not the material greatness of single states, but the
spiritual greatness of all Christendom: ‘So my fellow citizens
think that through me or through my companions, treaties are
made; they tell the truth for, without knowledge, they speak
prophetically; for I will do nothing else, and I want my com¬
panions to do nothing else, but defeat the devil and rob him of the
mastery that he has assumed over man because of mortal sin, and
I want to take hatred out of man’s heart, and reconcile him with
Christ Crucified, and with his neighbour. These are the treaties
that we arc busied with, and anyone who is with me also.’ Com¬
paring this passage with what Fra Raimondo tells us about the
treaties suggested by Catherine and taken by him to the Pope, we
deduce that she considered political treaties as a part, or conse-

248 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

quencc, of the Christian way of life, and in fact she could not

conceive of politics divorced from religion.

On the other hand, it was natural also for the Signori of Siena,
which officially belonged to the Anti-Papal League, to get
alarmed at the reports of Catherine’s apostleship. Was she not
preaching that all Christians must be subject to the Pope? And did
not her sermons in praise of peace and love imply condemnation
of the Sienese government that had sided with Florence, and
therefore condemnation of the war against the Pope? Moreover,
she was accompanied by men of political interests such as Rai-
mondo da Capua and the Abbot of Sant’ Antimo, whose only
purpose was to bring about a Papal victory over the League.
Siena, like Florence, distinguished sharply between religion and
politics, and therefore feared and opposed all that might in any
way support the Papacy, which, according to them, was dom¬
inated by French prelates, and therefore hostile to Tuscany and
the rest of Italy. Such a different way of looking at religion and
the State meant there could be no mutual understanding between
Catherine and the defenders of Siena; hence the Sienese suspicion
and distrust of her, and their remonstrances, couched in tem¬
perate and prudent terms.

Warnings and remonstrances were of no avail; she went on
undaunted, with her plans for a Christian peace, in pursuit of
which she despatched Fra Raimondo to Rome with the above-
mentioned treaties, and with the intention, perhaps, of arranging
interviews for her with the Pope. She wished to speak with
Gregory XI. Nearly a year had passed since her last audiences with
him, and in the meantime there had been grave and painful
events. Francesco di Vico had defeated the Papal troops. The war
was claiming numerous victims, and, as at Cesena, many innocent
lives. In Tuscany the people were becoming discontented, and
suffering the consequences of the Interdict; in Florence those who
longed for peace, in opposition to the inexorable War Party, were
growing more numerous every day. The cities and townships of
central Italy lived in constant dread of the approach of the mer¬
cenary Companies of Fortune; in Bologna, in March, there had
been cries in the streets of ‘Death to the Florentine traitors!’; on
the other hand the Church lacked unity, brotherliness and
serenity, and was still ruled by selfishness, ambition, and the greed

INTER ODIA CARITAS

249

for wealth. Catherine had long meditated on these evils and had
received in God a clear vision of the remedies to apply; she
wanted to tell the Pope of these, and she wanted him to listen to
her and follow her advice, as he had done in Avignon.

This time, however, she met with ill success. Fra Raimondo
was received with cold hostility by the Curia, and the plans, con¬
ceived by Catherine, which were to have given peace and pros¬
perity to the peoples, neither moved the Pope nor aroused his
interest. Fra Raimondo was very disappointed, and in his distress
told the Saint about his disillusionment, confusion and dismay on
hearing the Papal Court express ideas so completely contrary to
those he and his ‘Mother’ thought excellent. But Catherine was
not distressed at this news, nor did she lose one jot or tittle of her
faith; she saw all this hostility on the part of the Curia as the work
of the devil, who wanted to undo the good that they, by inspira¬
tion from God, tried to do. They must not be cast down; on the
contrary, they must fight and overcome all opposition. Fra
Raimondo must take heart, strengthen his own belief, and trust in
Him who can do all: ‘I have heard . . . that you have had great
difficulties, and that your mind has been clouded with sadness
through the illusions and deceits of the devil, who wishes you to
take right for wrong, and wrong for right; and he does this to
prevent you from pressing on to your goal. But take comfort, for
God has provided, and will provide, and His providence will not
fail you. See that in all necessities you have recourse to Mary, and
embrace the Holy Cross; and never let your mind be confused,
but see that you sail over the stormy sea in the little boat of divine
mercy. I know that from both Religious and lay folk, even within
the mystical body of Holy Church, you have received or suffered
from persecution, or the displeasure and indignation of the Vicar
of Christ, either for yourself, or for me. Do not oppose all these
creatures, but bear all with patience, departing thence at once and
retiring into your cell to examine yourself with a holy conscience,
thinking that God makes you worthy to endure, for love of the
truth, and to be persecuted for His name’s sake, with real humility
deeming yourself worthy of the punishment and unworthy of the
fruit. And all the things you have to do, see that you perform
them with prudence, with God always before your eyes; and
what you have to say or do, say it and do it before God and before

R

250 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

yourself, and with the help of most holy prayer. Then you will
find the teacher of holy clemency, the Holy Spirit, who will pour
into you such a light of wisdom that you will be able to discern
and choose what will be to His honour. This is the doctrine that is
given us by the sweet primal Truth, providing for our needs with
measureless love.’

All at once, however, the letter changes tone; Catherine is no
longer writing to Fra Raimondo but to the Pope himself. She has
a moment of fear or anguish; has she perhaps been rebuked by
Gregory, or threatened, or entreated in one way or another not to
busy herself any more in Church affairs? We do not know, but
her heartfelt appeal to the Pope leads us to believe this was the
case: ‘And to whom shall I run if you forsake me? Who would
come to my help? To whom could I flee if you drove me away?
My persecutors persecute me and I flee for shelter to you and to
other sons and servants of God/ She goes on to say that if he
refuses to receive her she will flee to Christ, who will welcome
her in spite of all her sins; and if Christ welcomes her, the Pope
too, His Vicar, will have to receive her, and so they will go
forward manfully together, striving for the good of the Church.
‘In the Church is my watch-post and my station as sentinel and
warrior; in the Church I wish to end my days, with tears, sweat
and sighs, and give my blood, and the very marrow of my bones/
Only in the Church could she feel free and unhindered, whatever
might befall her; ‘and if all the world drove me out, I would not
care about it, resting with tears and patience on the bosom of the
sweet Bride’. Her faith in Christ never falters, she is sure her place
is in the Church, she trusts the Pope; nevertheless a little bitter¬
ness remains in her soul: ‘I felt disappointment for the injury
done to the Church and for your disappointment’, she wrote later
on to Fra Raimondo, who, soon after his arrival in Rome, had
been appointed by his Superior Prior of the Minerva Church, and
so could not return to his Mother, as he wished. Catherine felt
this disappointment, but was not saddened by it; it was necessary
to pass through this to find sweetness and solace. In fact, the
bitterness must be fully savoured to be useful: ‘rejoice in suffering,
for the Truth has promised us refreshment after sorrow’.

Catherine had recourse to ever more constant prayer and self-
study. One ardent desire she had never been able to see gratified:

INTER ODIA CARITAS 25 1

her desire to write. When, the heart is full to overflowing, what
better relief is there than to write to those who love and under¬
stand ? Catherine had several secretaries at her disposal, ready at her
call; they admired her whole-heartedly, but in certain moments
her heart shunned all intermediaries. However intimate and
sympathetic a secretary may be, one cannot reveal to him all the
hidden thoughts of the soul. There is a spiritual shyness which bids
us confide only to the written word the outpourings of the heart.
An intermediary cools our inspiration, lessens our ardour, weakens
our expression. There is always something that we are ashamed
to reveal to a third person, even to a loved disciple, especially when
our thoughts or affections are turned to another. Naturally, there¬
fore, Catherine wished to learn to write, and for several years she
watched the formation of letters and words, trying to acquire the
necessary skill to be able, without the aid of secretaries, to pour
out the flood of her enthusiasm and transmit directly the fervour
of her faith. Naturally she was overjoyed when she found she
could indite her first letters. She wrote to Fra Raimondo: ‘This
letter, and another that I sent you, I have written with my own
hand at Isola della Rocca, with so many sighs and tears that my
eyes could not see for looking—I was so full of wonder at myself
and at God’s goodness, considering His mercy towards His
creatures that have the gift of reason, and His providence that is
so abundant for me; for, in His mercy, as I was deprived of this
consolation through my own ignorance, He has of His providence
granted me the gift of being able to write; so that when I came
down from the heights I might have some outlet for my bursting
heart. Not wishing to withdraw me yet from this life of shadows,
He has taught me this art in a wonderful way, as the teacher does
to the child, showing him by example. Hence, as soon as He
departed, with the glorious Evangelist John, and Thomas of
Aquinas, I, still sleeping, began to learn.’

Her expression: ‘so full of wonder at myself and at God’s good¬
ness’ aptly describes her state of mind when she began to write.
For her and for her companions it was miraculous, or the unex¬
pected result of a long and constant preparation. We do not know
whether she wrote her first sentences during a vision, but this
may well be true, as she had a most powerful capacity for
assimilation, and things she had closely observed had a way of

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

252

reappearing to her, sublimated or magnified, during her ecstasies
and visions. She tells us herself that she had an aptitude for writing;
and so the forms of letters, syllables and words that she had read
over a period of several years had been impressed on her mind,
and now seemed to spring to life as she wrote; as her pen expressed
her thoughts her hand seemed to be guided by a will other than
her own. As she wrote and read over again what she had written,
she rejoiced amid her tears. At last, when her heart was full and
needed an outlet, ‘not to burst’, she could, without the help of
intermediaries, write to someone who would understand her,
freely expressing what God had suggested or revealed to her.

In 1377, perhaps during the second half of May, Fra Raimondo
went to Rome, sent there, as we have seen, by Catherine, with
the ‘treaties’ which both Catherine and her faithful adviser hoped
might serve as a foundation for a firm peace between the Holy
See and Tuscany. But he was the bearer of other information also.
Towards the end of April, or at the beginning of May, he had had
in Siena a conversation with Niccolo Sodcrini about the question
of war or peace for Florence. Sodcrini was proposing to over¬
throw the ‘Eight of War’ and set up a government favourable to
peace in their place. All the Florentines, said Catherine, or at least
all those worthy of the name, want peace; there are only four, or,
at the most, six powerful rulers who ruthlessly impose their will
on all others; why should they not be cast out of the government?
They are evil-minded, enemies of the common good; it would be
a meritorious act to depose them. But to do so it would be neces¬
sary for the Guelph party to combine with certain citizens of good
will. To whom was Sodcrini referring when he spoke of ‘aliqui ex
bonis civibus’ ? Perhaps some of the Signori themselves, who
privately opposed the war, but openly voted for it in their
Council meetings. Sodcrini seems to be asking for the support of
the Dominican Order in favour of a more energetic and determ¬
ined propaganda in Florence, in order to inspire with courage
those citizens of good will of whom he speaks. What could give
them greater courage than the conviction that they were working
for the cause of God? Who could better arouse such a conviction
than the Preaching Friars? It may even be that Soderini, in this
suggestion, was aiming at getting Catherine herself to come to
Florence, in support of his plan. In any case, he had recourse to

INTER ODIA CARITAS

253

Fra Raimondo because he knew him to be a prudent and capable
politician, who enjoyed the esteem of Gregory XI, and was well
thought of by the Curia; he was sure he would find some way of
strengthening the Party in Florence, and so furthering the peace
that all desired.

We do not know what was Fra Raimondo’s answer; but in all
probability he promised to take up this matter as soon as he
arrived in Rome, whither he was bound. Certainly he did not
turn the proposal down: ‘Having heard this’, he writes, ‘I kept it
to myself, but when I came to the Vicar of Christ, to whom I was
sent by Catherine, I reported to him all that I had heard from that
man’.

Gregory XI was feeling the worse for the climate of Rome, and
was displeased with the way things were going in Italy. He had
given up the delightful life of Avignon to come to Rome, because
he hoped to restore the temporal power of the Church; he had
believed that, once he arrived in the Eternal City, all Catholics
would not only rejoice but would rally round him to support him
in the great ecclesiastical reforms he wished to carry out. But now
he had already been in Rome for several months, and riots,
insurrections and rebellions were breaking out just as before. In
fact, in the City of the Martyrs itself the strife was becoming more
and more dangerous. The writer of his ‘Prima Vita’ tells us that
Gregory was terrified and dismayed, seeing himself deceived and
cheated by those who had assured him that as soon as he set foot
in Rome a sign from him would pacify all Italy. Instead, what did
he behold ? Ever more defections and rebellions, while even those
who until a few months before had been tranquil and submissive
now began to fall away from him. Moreover, the State was in a
bad way financially; his own health was failing; the Florentines
were out to arouse new enmities against him and to strengthen his
old foes, and meanwhile they strove to defeat his militias and to
bribe their Captains. The Republic was determined to oblige
him to accept a dictated peace. Wherever he turned he saw noth¬
ing but obstacles and iniquity. He was naturally distressed and
despondent. His state of mind is seen in the letter he wrote to the
Florentines, in which he compared the advantages of the life in
Avignon with the difficulties, anxieties, cares, hostilities and
struggles he had to contend with in Italy, and in Rome itself. He

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

254

was irritable; even trifling worries made him indignant and harsh.

Fra Raimondo therefore came to him at an unfortunate
moment. Gregory XI loved and revered Catherine as a Saint, not
as a political thinker; the suggestions she sent to him—in other
circumstances he would have smiled at them good-humouredly
—angered him now that he saw the inconsistency of the prophe¬
cies about his return to Rome. Fra Raimondo enjoyed no better
fortune with the Curia, for most of the members of the Papal
Court were enraged at having left the calm and serenity of Avig¬
non for the confusion, uncertainty and anarchy of Rome.

However, even if adversities had soured Gregory’s temper,
they had no power to overcome him. He had faith in the justice
of his cause and believed in a future peace for all Christendom.
Although his body was ailing and his heart well-nigh broken he
gathered all his energies to restore the fullness of the temporal
power. He was a man of faith and a wise politician, and through
faith and wisdom he was able to achieve, at least in part, his
immediate purpose. The bonus et purus aer of Anagni restored his
health, so that during his summer sojourn there he was able to
work assiduously for the good of the Church. Pastor says: ‘Little
by little events began to turn in his favour, thanks to his wise policy
of generously rewarding the faithful, harshly punishing the
impenitent, and graciously forgiving the repentant. He succeeded
in reconciling the wealthy city of Bologna to the Church (in
a Bull of August 21st) and in drawing over to his own side
Rodolfo da Varano, the supreme leader of the Florentines.’ It
may be added that Lucca and Pisa had never wished to impair
their own good relations with the Papacy, and Siena itself was
always timid and wavering. The Florentines now realised that
their city no longer showed the unity and solidarity of the pre¬
ceding year, and they decided to send their Ambassadors to the
Pope to ask for a reconciliation. It was not that the rulers desired
peace, but they wanted to show their own good will to the
populace, now testless and longing for peace, so as to be able to
throw the blame for the failure of their peace effort on the Pope,
who, they would say. proposed unacceptable conditions.

The anonymous Florentine Diarist wrote, as if with a sigh of
longing: ‘It is said they will arrive at an agreement for peace;
please God it may be so!’—and he wrote this on June 13th,

INTER ODIA CARITAS 255

when reporting the arrival of the Florentine Ambassadors at the
Papal Court at Anagni. And Stefani Marchionne di Coppo asserts
that in the year 1377 in Florence ‘the war was becoming un¬
popular and money not easily forthcoming, while the leaders of
the Guelph party were inciting the people against the Eight
Rulers who wanted war and not peace—so that whoever sided
with them (the Guelphs) went in great fear and danger’.

While staying at Anagni the Pope once more felt fatherly
towards Catherine, and received Fra Raimondo in a more
friendly manner. In October he gave him a letter for Catherine
which Fra Raimondo sent to her in the Valle d’Orcia, together
with one from himself. Catherine rejoiced at receiving both these
letters, whose contents are unknown to us. Probably, the Pope
gave his ill-health as a reason for not having written to her for so
long. She says: ‘So, having read the letters and understood all, I
begged a serving-maid of God’—she means herself—‘to offer up
tears and sweat to God for the Bride and for the ailing Father’.
Her joy at receiving the letter from her ‘sweet Father’ was so great
that she was plunged into ecstasies and visions. She described these
later on in a letter to Fra Raimondo, written in her own hand
(No. 272 of Tommaseo’s edition), which contains at least in part,
as Duprc-Theseider has recently demonstrated, the animating
idea of the ‘Dialogue’.

Possibly Gregory XI had begun to consider making use of
Catherine’s eloquence to persuade the Florentines to rebel against
the Eight of War and insist on their rulers making peace with the
Holy See. Soderini’s proposal to Fra Raimondo, which he had
reported to the Pope, must have made him reflect on the good
results that might be obtained in this way. Who better than
Catherine could spread political propaganda under the form of
religion? Who could more eloquently preach in Florence the
necessity for making peace with the Holy See, without incurring
the anger of the government and being persecuted? It was clear
now that the war would never be brought to an end by force of
arms alone, and Gregory XI was aware of this; nor could he hope
to win by diplomatic means, for the Florentines were always
watchful, astute, ready to counter-attack or even to take the
initiative. At the end of October, moreover, the troops of his
Captain, Rodolfo da Varano, had been beaten by the Condottieri

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

256

of the anti-Papal League and pursued up to the walls of Camcrino,
so that there was great jubilation in Florence where the banners
snatched from their enemies were carried amidst great rejoicing
through the streets. Another means must therefore be sought to
beat down the power of Florence. During the summer months
Gregory had had some political successes, and on his return to
Rome the oath of allegiance that he received from the Ambas¬
sadors of Foligno and the peace he was able to sign with the
Prefect of that city, Francesco da Vico, were proof of this; but he
needed to find a way of overthrowing the Florentine government,
the source of all the recent troubles of the Holy See. He was
attracted by the idea of forming in Florence a considerable
nucleus of people faithful to the Papacy and working for its cause.
If he could succeed in this he could see the possibility of preparing
a peace in the near future. In August he had sent to Florence two
Friars: the Franciscan Lodovico of Venice and the Augustinian
hermit Giovanni of Basle. In November Giovanni of Basle had
gone back to Florence again; but Catherine could, much more
easily than these, spread an active and profitable propaganda
because of the high esteem in which she was held in the city. With
this design probably already decided upon, Gregory, on his return
to Rome, invited Fra Raimondo to dine with him and expounded
to him his plan: ‘They have written to me that if Catherine goes
to Florence I shall have peace’. And to Fra Raimondo, who
impulsively volunteered his own services for the new mission, he
replied that he must decline his offer because the Florentines would
ill-treat him, while Catherine, a woman revered by many in
Florence, would not be exposed to grave danger; moreover, she
would be able to speak with a freedom not granted to others.
Perhaps the Pope forbore to say that neither Fra Raimondo nor
any other Dominican follower of the Saint possessed her power
to move hearts and arouse enthusiasm for the Church.

Thus, while Catherine was spending Advent at Rocca d’Orcia,
her new mission in the Church’s cause was being decided in Rome.
This was rather a sad time for her. As her exterior activity became
more limited she delved ever deeper into the depths of her soul,
examining her own being and her own work and finding nothing
of much value there. ‘My life is of little use to others; rather is it
painful and burdensome to all creatures, far and near, because of

INTER ODIA CARITAS

257

my sins.’ A desolate state of mind, like the desolate winter land¬
scape of Rocca d’Orcia, where she felt ‘the winds beat in from
every side\ She looked at herself, then at Christ, and measured the
dividing gulf. She contemplated humanity in travail and realised
she could do very little to alleviate the misery of men. Yet she
knew she must continue to share the sufferings of others, and
atone for the sins of all with her own sufferings. With these
thoughts in her mind her heart became aflame with desire, and a
prayer burst from the depths of her soul, a prayer that sings itself
like a hymn: ‘So may my sufferings be my food, my tears my
drink, my sweat my ointment! May my sufferings nourish me,
heal me, give me light, give me wisdom, clothe me; may my
sufferings strip me of all spiritual and temporal self-love. . . . May
God in His pity grant me to live in anguish for the love of virtue,
and in my suffering to offer Him my sad and anguished desires for
the salvation of the whole world and for the reform of Holy
Church.’

It is not too fanciful to suppose that Catherine’s prayers were
answered in Gregory XI’s plan to send her to Florence. While the
Saint was longing to be of use to her ‘sweet Father’ he was giving
the order to send her to defend the Papal cause, not as an Ambass¬
adress, for she would certainly have been outwitted by the cunning
Florentines, but as a Religious, to stir up the already unquiet
consciences of the Catholics of Florence, strengthening their
desire to submit to the Interdict and put their trust in their Holy
Father.

Catherine arrived in Florence some time in the early spring of .
1378. She had men and women disciples with her, and began her r
work at once, with all her energy.

The city had a wretched appearance in those days. The grey
atmosphere of the streets and hills accorded well with the sadness
the citizens felt. Even the sunlight that lit the olive groves and
brushed with gold the pietra serena of the palaces could not warm
their mournful hearts. The self-confident, bold and agressive
spirit that Catherine had noticed in the Florentines two years
before had almost disappeared. The city was in distress and over¬
hung by a dreadful threat; the future was obscure. The economic
and spiritual ruin of the Republic, which few had foreseen the
year before, was now clear to all, and most of the citizens openly

258 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

deprecated the war. Two years previously they had discussed
peace proposals with Catherine and had asked her to speed the
negotiations with the Pope, but, as we have seen, their proposals
and offers were insincere, and intended only to further their own
political aims; in those days they were sure of victory, even hope¬
ful of an overwhelming triumph; now they were doubtful of
winning the war, and nearly everyone wanted peace. Catherine’s
labour, therefore, was on a fertile soil. Her appeals and warnings
found a widespread welcome and consent, and her hope of con¬
cluding a peace with the Pope was echoed in many hearts. Dis¬
content with their rulers, and especially with the Eight of War,
grew apace. The movement for peace acquired more power and
authority every day. Verses invoking peace began to circulate in
the city:

‘Peace, by God, and naught but peace,

Peace alone, for war is evil for Florence,

Peace to restore this land,

Peace we ask for, for love of peace!’

The verses are uncouth but they express very clearly a sturdy
popular demand for peace, and for tliis reason are quoted by the
anonymous Diarist of Florence, as representing not the cry of a
solitary, but the prayer of a whole people that longs to be freed
from the sufferings of war. Gone were the days when political
speeches urging the people to further efforts found a ready
response. Now even the pealing of bells, the display of banners
and lighting of bonfires that announced the news of every victory
of the armies of the League, which once filled the city and its
surroun ding countryside with joy and excitement, produced only
a passing mood of exultation and hope. The drying up of trade
and industry, the increase of poverty, and the spectre of worse to
come, the hourly struggle against the difficulties caused by the
war, had the effect of plunging the people back once more into
an even greater dejection. In their distress they turned to God,
begging Him to touch the hearts of their rulers and incline them
towards peace: ‘Peace! we ask God for peace; the Lord grant us
peace, that we may go in peace, and put peace in the hearts of
those who disdain it!’

There was then a general desire for peace, which the Interdict
had greatly helped to foster, for as soon as this ban was declared

INTER ODIA CARITAS 259

the Florentines were seized with a sort of religious frenzy, as if
they wished to prove that they were fervid Christians even
without the Divine Office. In the churches hundreds of men and
women sang the ‘Laudi’ with joy; every day endless processions
passed through the city streets, bearing relics of the Saints, with
hymns and music; vast sums of money were spent on candles and
sacred books; thousands of people, of all ages and classes, scourged
themselves in public; everyone was fasting, praying and perform¬
ing works of piety. Conversions were numerous, asceticism
became fashionable, a zeal for salvation seemed to arise spon¬
taneously. ‘And again many young nobles and rich men were
moved, or became converted, and built themselves cells at Fiesole,
and gave alms, and then fasted and prayed and slept on straw and
on the naked ground. They converted sinful women and attired
them and took them also to Fiesole and gave them alms, and
restored convents; in this way many rich youths were not ashamed
to despise themselves and forsake the world, and to go begging
for the poorer converts.'

This form of religious enthusiasm had also a political back¬
ground, for the Florentines wanted to prove that even in their
excommunicated city they still practised their faith with fervour,
and the Interdict had not prevented them from being good
Catholics. As Stefani Marchionne di Coppo observed: ‘It looked
as if they wished to defeat and humiliate the Pope, while remain¬
ing obedient sons of the Church'.

With the passing of months the apostolic fervour of the citizens
became dulled, and their alleluias became misereres. The proces¬
sions were even more numerous than before, but no longer
rejoicing. Now the faithful implored the intercessions of Mary
and the Saints and clamoured for the Divine Office. Prayers and
scourgings were no longer witnesses to a robust faith which per¬
sisted even without the aid of Masses; they had become sacrificial
offerings for peace. The desire to ‘defeat and humiliate the Pope
by showing their religious fervour, unabated despite the Interdict,
was no longer there; in the year of grace 1377 they implored God
to inspire the Pope to give them peace, ‘praying Almighty God
to open the heart of the Holy Father, Messer the Pope, that he
may show mercy to us sinners, and that it may please Him to send
to him and to us holy peace’.

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

260

The desire for pardon is already timidly showing its head. The
Florentines hope the Pope will offer them peace—they do not
want to have to beseech him for it. They arc, however, for the
first time showing that their consciences are uneasy about their
behaviour with regard to him.

The lack of divine services is disturbing to them and leaves a
painful gap in their lives. Growing distress irritates and depresses
them. They try to propitiate God, with many mortifications; the
‘Flagellants’ become more and more numerous; the opposition
to the war grows ever stronger. The Signoria realise that Florence
is in grave danger. What better means could be found of restoring
tranquillity than by giving them back their Mass and sacraments ?
The government therefore orders all the priests to officiate and the
citizens to attend divine worship. This is a violation of the Inter¬
dict. Schism now looms on the horizon, and perhaps the Pope
fears it. In any case, he condemns the Florentines and orders all
the priests—with the exception of two, who are to remain to
baptise the newly born—to leave the diocese; a great number of
priests and friars choose to obey the Signoria rather than the
Pope, and continue to say Mass, to communicate, to give blessings,
and to preach the Florentine cause. The Pope can do no more than
use threats or, better, avail himself of the intervention of the
Saints to re-establish the significance of the Interdict. Catherine,
whose eloquence softens the heart, persuades the intellect, and
fills the soul with holy enthusiasm, is sure, he thinks, to make the
Florentines respect the Interdict, and will be able to remind the
priests of their strict duty as priests of Rome, arousing in them a
greater spirit of sacrifice and a real attachment to the cause of the
Church. With this purely religious aim in mind, as well as the
political purpose already alluded to, Gregory XI had sent
Catherine to Florence.

She found support from the Dominicans of Santa Maria
Novella, from the Guelph Party, and especially from Soderini.
The Party was endeavouring to seize power from the Eight of
War, so as to make peace with the Pope—an aim of which
Catherine could only approve. It is true that the Party did not
always act for the general good of Florence—in fact, some of its
leaders were out to achieve their own ends for motives of per¬
sonal ambition or vendetta; but Catherine’s own straightforward-

INTER ODIA CARITAS

26l

ness and simplicity prevented her from suspecting crookedness in
others; to her it was inconceivable that in such a grave struggle as
this between Florence and the Holy See, there should be anyone
who pursued any other end but that of the common good, and the
triumph of the Church. She believed what the Party leaders told
her, attended their meetings, approved of their plans, and urged all
who heard her to put an end to the war. She never perceived that
she had become, in a certain sense, a Party tool. She took the
Guelph leaders for friends and supporters, and never doubted their
sincerity or loyalty. She had found new disciples who loved her and
whom she loved. There was Giannozzo Sacchetti, brother of the
poet Francesco Sacchetti, and himself no mean versifier. He was
obsessed by the fear of death, and in some of his poems seemed
almost to express a presentiment of his own tragic end. He found in
Catherine’s words and prayers consolation for his tormented soul.

He wrote: ‘Grief weighs me down so heavily that I am cast
down like a man worn out and beaten by Fortune’. But the
energetic Catherine knew how to rouse and encourage him, and
dissipate his sadness with love, which increased his faith and filled
him with joy. He was a real poet, but dwelt too much on his own
sorrows. Perhaps his disorderly life made him desperate at times,
but he felt the need for renewal... ‘I wish to return to my divine
Creator—in a new ship, with a new rudder’. She taught him to
seek after God, who would fulfil all his longing. There was a
trace of morbidity in the pleasure he felt in the contemplation of
his mistress’s beautiful body, decomposed and corrupt in death.
Funereal thoughts disturbed and weakened him; he needed the
gleam of faith and the flame of love. Catherine wanted him to be
a poet, a healthy, vigorous poet—and she gave him some of her
own ardour and inspiration: ‘Drown yourself in the source of
love, if you seek for love’. By her side Giannozzo lived a new life.
Full of love like a mother, full of understanding like the dearest of
friends, terrible sometimes in warning or advice, she guided and
ennobled him. He needed her look, her word. Left to himself he
did not always see clearly, he fell easily into intrigues, became
weak, uncertain; with her help he acquired clarity, strength, will¬
power, courage. She loved him as if he were her child, and did all
she could to pluck the bitterness from his heart, and spiritualise his
art and his life.

262 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

Barduccio Caiiigiani, too, became in these days her disciple and
was soon her beloved son. He was very young when he first
knew' her, of frail constitution and with a tendency towards
consumption, but his heart was generous and he could love with
rare constancy. Raimondo da Capua, who knew him well, des¬
cribes him as being ‘adorned with all the virtues’; and Giovanni
of the Cells, whose disciple he was before he met Catherine,
writing to him on the occasion of the Saint’s death, treats him as
if he were an angel on earth: ‘Come to your brethren’, he says,
‘who await you with great longing; for they believe they will be
receiving an angel when they receive you’. He was the son of
Pietro Canigiani and the brother of Ristoro, both prominent
Guelphs who met Catherine during her visit to Florence. They
supported her in her political mission, proclaimed her sanctity and
her great virtues throughout the city, and remained in corres¬
pondence with her after her departure.

As far as we can tell from the scanty facts we know about him,
Barduccio shared more in Catherine’s religious life than in her
political activity. He followed her to Siena and to Rome, was
always very close to her, and helped her by acting as her secretary,
always drinking in her words and moulding his own soul accord¬
ing to her teaching. Only in the atmosphere she created around her
could he breathe at his ease; by her side he shared her overflowing
love and found a new motive for living. Therefore, when his
Mother died, he lost some of his inner poise and gave way to
profound distress; he felt ‘like a puny child, left orphaned through
the death of so great a mother’. The intense sensibility of his soul
induced a languor which fostered incipient consumption; very
soon the disease got a firm hold of him and he began to decline;
in little more than two years after Catherine’s death Barduccio,
too, entered his grave. It was a happy death, however; his
biographers tell us that when he was dying he began suddenly to
smile, and it seemed to the onlookers as if he saw his Mother
drawing him to herself.

Catherine found much support from the friars of Santa Maria
Novella, and especially from the wise and learned young Domini¬
can Alessio Strozzi. He pleaded her cause and urged all his rela¬
tions—they were numerous and influential—to follow her advice
and defend her from the attacks of her enemies; even in the most

INTER ODIA CARITAS

263

difficult and dangerous crises he never abandoned her for a
moment, and did his best to placate the wrath of her adversaries.

Catherine, therefore, among so many old and new friends, felt
protected and aided while she delivered her eloquent message.
She cared nothing for the accusations of her enemies or the insults
of the rulers, who described her as a ‘hypocritical and wicked
woman’. Her mission was sacred: to make peace between
Florence and the Pope she was ready to do all, bear all, dare all,
even death.

Gregory XI had hoped for good results from Catherine’s
efforts in favour of peace, but his shrewdness as a politician made
him aware that propaganda alone, even that of a holy and
venerable woman, would not bring about peace with Florence in
a short time. And he wanted peace as soon as possible. In Novem¬
ber 1377 he had proposed to the Florentine Government, through
Fra Giovanni of Basle, a meeting of representatives of both sides
at Viterbo or Piombino or Pisa, in order to negotiate. When,
however, many weeks had gone by without any result, he sent
Ambassadors to Bemabo Visconti ‘to negotiate peace, for us and
for them’, says the anonymous Florentine Diarist. This new move
might seem surprising: why should the Pope, who had shown
himself so hard and resolute with Florence, now become so
merciful as to take the initiative in offering peace? It was not for
the sake of any material gain, nor was it through weakness; it
was, we believe, because his religious conscience prevailed over
his political sense. His health was rapidly failing, and this also was
an inducement to think more of spiritual than of merely political
issues. He had dreamt of restoring the Papal State to its former
power, and for this he had come to Rome, renouncing the
pleasant seat of Avignon. He desired also to eliminate discords
among Christians, and promote peace between the peoples; he
wanted to root out the heresies that were fed and fostered by these
quarrels between the Holy See and other governments; he hoped
to reform the clergy and to proclaim a great crusade for the con¬
version and conquest of the Mahomedan world; but, after several
years of rule and innumerable efforts, he saw that he was still far
from his longed-for goal. His strength was declining. Why should
he not at least eliminate the war with Florence, that had been and
still was the cause of so many troubles, with a magnanimous

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

264

gesture? By so doing his own prestige might suffer, but what of
that? It would be for the good of the Church. Peace would bring
her considerable benefits that in all probability he would not live
to see, but that did not matter to him. The greatness of the
Church came first, his own political prestige could easily be
sacrificed.

Possibly he remembered some phrases from letters that
Catherine had written to him: ‘It is better to give up the gold of
temporal matters, rather than lose the gold of spiritual matters.
Do then all you can, and when you have done all you arc justified
before God and before the men of this world. You will beat them
more easily with the rod of kindness, love and peace than with
the rod of war, and your spiritual and temporal losses will be
restored to you. ... It seems that God shows no other way; I see
no other way in Him, except the way of peace. Peace, peace then
for love of Christ Crucified! Do not consider the rudeness, blind¬
ness and pride of your children. With peace you will draw the
sword and the rancour out of their hearts and all their quarrel¬
someness, and you will bind them together.’ In another letter we
read: ‘in whatever way your conscience will allow you to make
peace’—a phrase that may have dwelt unobserved in the depths
of Gregory’s soul, to reappear more vividly during moments of
reflection on his pontificate, on the greatness of Christ and the
wretchedness of men. It may be that, knowing he was near to
death, he desired to imitate Christ more closely than before, and
become more loving and more merciful to all. ‘I want you to be
a tree of love grafted on the Word of love, Christ Crucified’,
Catherine had told him; was not this indeed his true task as Vicar
of Christ? ‘Let your kindness conquer their malice and pride’, she
wrote again. He knew she was right: he resolved to be kind.

Bemabo Visconti consented to be a mediator for peace, and
during the first ten days of March 1378 he gathered together at
Sarzana the Cardinal of Amiens, the Archbishop of Narbona and
the Bishop of Pamplona, who represented the Pope, Pazzino
degli Strozzi, Alessandro dell’ Antclla, Simone di Rinicri Salviati,
and Benedetto di Nerozzo degli Alberti, Ambassadors for
Florence. There were also observers sent by her allies, and
representatives of Naples, Venice and France. It was a real Con¬
gress, presided over with tact by Visconti. Agreement was reached

INTER ODIA CARITAS 265

fairly rapidly: Florence and her allies were to pay the Holy See
eight hundred thousand florins. Regarding the restitution by
Florence of the Papal lands and ecclesiastical property seques¬
trated, the annulment of measures passed against the Inquisition,
the raising of the Interdict and other matters there was much
discussion and a conflict of opinions, but all the States alike needed
peace and were trying hard to reach a fair conclusion when
the news came that on March 27th Gregory XI had died.
Immediately the negotiations were suspended and the Congress
dissolved; the Ambassadors departed: ‘The Cardinals departed,
leaving everything in confusion, and the Ambassadors went
away, and Bernabo also went away to Naples’. The plans for
peace had suffered shipwreck once more.

The news of the Pope’s death was received with joy in Florence:
‘Great bonfires were lit in Florence and the country around’; the
hope at once arose that a new Pope, friendly to the Republic,
would be elected. As soon as it was known, on the 12th of April,
that Bartolomeo Prignano had been proclaimed Pope, all felt more
tranquil and satisfied: ‘. . . and he is a Neapolitan and said to be
friendly to us, and those Limousinf Cardinals have been passed
over. Amen!’ wrote the Florentine Diarist. But what thoughts,
what emotions were Catherine’s when she heard of the death of
her ‘most sweet Father’ ? We may be sure that, whatever her hopes
or fears, she remained calm, placing all her confidence in God.
She rejoiced when she received reassuring, perhaps even joyful,
news from Raimondo da Capua.

During his stay in Rome Fra Raimondo had become a political
figure of a certain importance. He was familiar with some of the
Cardinals, enjoyed the confidence of various leaders in Rome, was
invited to take part in the City Councils and was consulted by the
‘Bandcresi’, the Governors of Rome, on the best way of obtaining
from the Conclave a Pope to their own taste. He was convinced
that the Church needed an Italian Pope, a strong and religious
man; strength was all-important. So, as soon as the name of
Bartolomeo Prignano was murmured as ‘Papabile in the Curia,
even before the Conclave commenced, he was very pleased: ‘I
like him because he is a good man and an Italian, but I think him

f The Limousin province (the territory around Limoges) still formed part of the posses¬
sions of the English King in France.

S

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

266

somewhat soft and remissive’, was his first judgment, which
showed how little he knew the future Pope, and proves also how
greatly he desired a Pope of strong will. Soon after his election
praises of the new Pontiff were ringing through Rome: ‘The
Church of God will be well governed’; ‘It is more than a hundred
years since the Church has had such a shepherd’. Anecdotes were
repeated representing him as energetic, solicitous for the good of
the Church and jealous of his personal prerogatives. It was said,
for example, that he found letters of Gregory XI directing that the
sum of four hundred francs from the Papal treasury should be
spent as a ransom for Gregory’s brother, held prisoner by the
English. Urban VI withheld this sum because he said the money
belonged to the Church and could be spent only for the needs of
the Church. He was said to be prudent, shrewd, expert in worldly
business, and mindful of religious principles. Fra Raimondo could
desire no one better. He soon became his enthusiastic admirer,
and imparted his enthusiasm to Catherine. ‘You sent me this
news telling me to rejoice and be glad; and I have had great joy
of it’, she replied to him.

hi Florence also a flattering picture was drawn of the new Pope:
had he not already called to order the Limousin and French
Cardinals, who had wanted him to dance to their piping? ‘Since
God has granted me the grace of being made Pope’, he told them,
‘I intend to be Pope’, and he said also: ‘I intend to stay in Rome,
and to make Cardinals here in Italy, and I intend to make peace,
and not for money’. This was an implicit condemnation of the
policy of Gregory XI and aroused joy in the Florentines, exhausted
by the war. These phrases, whether the Pope ever uttered them or
not, excited the popular imagination and enlisted sympathy for
the erstwhile Archbishop of Bari, now Vicar of Christ. If Catherine
heard them she must have rejoiced; and perhaps it was then that
she thought of sending Ncri di Landoccio to the Papal Court so
as to have another trusted friend there, besides Raimondo, who
might approach the Pope on her behalf. She was keenly interested
in all he did, and observed his actions with fervent affection:
‘according to what they have written to me from Rome it seems
that he (the Pope) has begun his work in a manly manner, and is
out to win souls’. She judged him to be a religious Pope, felt him
to be of one mind with herself, and hoped that he would co-

INTER ODIA CARITAS 267

operate with her to bring about peace with Florence. ‘And since
I know his holy will, I am hopeful, if my sins do not stand in the
way, that soon we shall have peace’, the peace she yearned for.
The behaviour of the Florentine priests had grieved her very
much; the Religious and the secular priests and, more than all,
the Franciscans, not only had ignored the Interdict but were
trying to convince those of God’s priests who were good and
obedient to the Floly See, to celebrate the Divine Office, while
they urged the faithful to attend divine services. They were
pusillanimous friars and priests, said Catherine, servile of soul,
given over to the pleasures of the senses, vain and timid; and they
were responsible for the schism that was fast approaching: ‘Alas!
alas! I die of grief and yet cannot die when I see the falseness of
those who should be glad to die for the truth.

Hence the need for a radical reform which should begin with
the higher clergy, because they were the most observed by all;
once these were reformed, the good effects would soon be seen
in the lives of the humbler clergy. Holy Cardinals were needed
to make Christendom one and whole, and enable the Crusade
against the infidels to be proclaimed—for she still saw the urgent
necessity of the Crusade also. She continued to preach these
favourite ideals which she would have liked to implant in the
mind of Urban VI, but she judged the time had not yet come to
write to him directly. She therefore begged Cardinal Pietro di
Luna to speak to the Pope: ‘And tell him manfully that he must
reform the Church by means of saintly and good pastors, in
charity and in truth, not with words only, for if he were but to
say, and not do, it would be a bad business’.

Meanwhile, important changes were taking place in Florence.
From March 20th till May 20th certain friends and disciples
of Catherine were Captains of the Party: Tommaso Soderini,
Ristoro Canigiani, Stoldo Altoviti, Alessandro Buondclmonti
and Benedetto Peruzzi. They tried by every means to induce the
Signoria to make peace. On the first of May Salvcstro de’ Medici
was elected Gonfalonicre of the Republic, ‘a man not without
ambition, but honest and a sincere lover of his country’. As Gon-
faloniere of Justice, he insisted on observance of the Interdict, and
suspended, to a certain extent, the confiscation of ecclesiastical
property; and Ambassadors were appointed to go to Rome to

268 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

render homage to the new Pope and negotiate a peace. Catherine
began to see her hopes fulfilled: ‘The dawn has come; for the
darkness of all those mortal sins, that were committed in publicly
saying and hearing Mass, has been lifted, in spite of those who
would have prevented this, and the Interdict is being observed’,
she wrote to Monna Alessa: ‘And already I think I see the dawn
appear; for our Saviour has enlightened these people who have
raised their heads from the perverse blindness of the sin they
committed in forcing the celebration of Masses. Now, through
divine grace, they observe the Interdict and begin to turn towards
obedience to their Father.’

The mission she had so generously fulfilled in Florence was
bearing excellent fruits, but she was afraid of over-estimating her
success; it was true that her apostolate bore the impress of God,
and that divine grace was working through her; but she was not
yet sure of achieving her purpose. To her mind everything
depended on herself. Fler own sins could still hamper, or even
destroy, the best beginnings. She herself was the arbiter of the
Florentine destiny. The political and economic questions of the
hour had no significance for her at all; she, she alone, by her
purity, could win from God the desired peace. To be sure, any
observer of the conditions of Florence and of the Papacy at that
time could also, without the help of religion, prophesy peace in
the near future. The Florentine finances were exhausted; the
Government of the Eight needed external peace to be able to curb
the continual abuse of power by the Guelph Party, which caused
much discontent among the citizens and sapped the strength of
the State. Her allies had now become a dead weight for the
Republic; they were tired of military victories which led to no
decisive triumph; they had almost ceased to take any active share
in the Florentine war. The propaganda against the Pope had
naturally lost its appeal now that the Pope was an Italian. More¬
over, Urban VI was asking for much less as war compensation
than his predecessor had demanded, thus making negotiations and
agreements much easier. The Florentine dream of dominion was
melting away, and the Pope himself, threatened by the conduct
of his Cardinals, who ‘had begun to cherish plans of revolt against
him’, desired a speedy peace. It was easy to predict peace in the
near future. But Catherine was not concerned with such con-

INTER ODIA CARITAS

269

siderations; for her, peace was bound up with religious questions,
and the accomplishment of peace would be the result of the sacri¬
fices of Saints. Everything in this world depended on God, and
the good that men desired could only be obtained by prostrating
themselves before the immensity of divine power, and allowing
the spirit of Christ to take possession of their souls. She had
sounded the depths of her own soul, and judged all earthly things
by the light of truth she found therein. It was clear to her that the
Vicar of Christ had nothing to gain by the war with Florence. It
was in fact a stumbling-block to the spiritual progress of the
Church. The war must therefore be stopped, especially as a very
grave danger was now threatening, one that must be faced with all
available energy. She had indeed received news from Rome that
some of the Cardinals were conspiring against Urban VI; this
might be the beginning of schism, which would be a real disaster,
because it would lead to at least partial ruin of the Church, and
the decay of spirituality. It was news that gave her ‘intolerable
pain’, and heartbrokenly she appealed to Cardinal Pietro di Luna
to warn the Pope that he must delay no longer but make peace at
once with Florence, ‘for it would be too hard to have to fight
within and without’. She foresaw the difficulties that the Papacy
would find in having to carry on a war on two fronts, and
trembled at the thought: this present war was nothing in com¬
parison with what must be avoided at all costs.

While Catherine saw the necessity of peace for the Florentines,
and, even more, for the welfare of the Holy Sec, she hardly
noticed that in Florence the Party, as the Guelphs were called,
with its tyrannical interference in municipal affairs, was sowing
the seeds of future riots and troubles, more painful perhaps even
than those caused by the war which was now languishing and
near its end. According to Maconi, she did intervene to try to
curb the overweening power of the Guelph leaders, but only
when they had already stirred the people to revolt. The truth is
that during her busy days in Florence she had not been able to
give a purely religious character, as she would have wished, to
the cause she defended; the men of the Party made use of her very
cunningly, so that in the end the people considered her as one of
their group, and accused her of dabbling in politics. For this
reason, on June 18th, as soon as the quarrel between the

270 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

Signoria and the Party came to a head, the Signoria were as
bitterly opposed to her as they were to the Guelph leaders. She
was the friend, and had been the guest, of Soderini. Pier Canigiani
had been collecting money ‘from all the artisans, men and
women’ to buy stones and timber to take up to the ‘foot of the
slope of San Giorgio’ to build there a house for Catherine. She
had taken part in the Guelph meetings, and warmly exhorted the
people to disobey the orders of the Signoria. Her religious preach¬
ing was therefore but a means to disguise political aims against
the government, and her sanctity was feigned. In this way various
prominent Florentines judged her harshly, calling her a dangerous
hypocrite; and when a revolt broke out against the Guelph inter¬
ference in the conduct of State affairs, the rioters burnt the houses
of the Soderini, the Canigiani, and other leaders of the Party, and
attacked some Dominican monasteries. They also sought out
Catherine’s house ‘at the foot of the slope of San Giorgio’ to take
their revenge on her and put her to death. This is an episode of
secondary importance in the history of Florence at this time, but
it is significant in the life of Catherine, as it is the first time she
had to face the threat of death. Among those who went to seek
her was one man, more furious than the others, who advanced
with drawn sword, probably blaspheming, towards the group of
‘Caterinati’ who stood around Catherine, praying there in the
garden under the Costa San Giorgio. Seeing him, she was at once
fearful for her Family, and called to her would-be assailant who
was asking which of the women was Catherine: ‘I am she. Take
me and leave this Family alone.’

Her austere, emaciated looks, the decided tone in which she
pronounced these words, her luminous gaze, and perhaps also the
presence of various people who might have defended her, calmed
the fury of this reckless man. Probably he felt isolated, because his
companions, if he had any, had remained behind, inactive; his
assurance failed him; perhaps he felt remorse. In any case, he gave
up his purpose and retreated. Catherine’s gaze may have followed
him, wondering, as he went away. She rejoiced and grieved at the
same time. She had longed for martyrdom, and now just when
her desire was about to be fulfilled, the hand raised to strike had
been withdrawn. It was God’s will: ‘Is it my sins that make me
unworthy to shed my blood?’ she thought. The sensation of

INTER ODIA CARITAS

271

imminent death had given her indescribable joy: ‘for I never yet
had felt such mysterious joy’. But the great boon had been denied
her; she had been near to martyrdom, but she was still alive and
whole. ‘My heart was melting for the love and desire I had to lay
down my life.’ But she was not worthy to cement with her blood
one stone of the Mystical Body of the Church. Therefore her
‘desire was blissful and painful’, and her gaze full of sadness as she
watched the retreat of the man who might have been her
murderer: sadness because in death she would have found real
life. ‘Therein was the sweetness of truth, therein was the joy of
clear and pure knowledge, therein was the joy of the sweet
providence of God; therein was the joy of new martyrdoms,
predestined, as you know, by eternal Truth. The tongue could
not relate all the good that my soul felt.’

After a few days of burning and sacking and murders, the
search for the Guclphs and their possessions ended, but there was
still the fear of new riots and new forms of tyranny. Catherine’s
disciples, somewhat intimidated, advised their Mother to return
to Siena, but she refused, saying it was her duty to stay in the
territory of the Republic until the news came of a peace between
Florence and the Pope: a peace which she said was sure to come.
But as it was not prudent to stay in the house that had been
attacked, she was advised to change her dwelling. This was
impossible for the moment, because her admirers, even her dis¬
ciples, were afraid to receive her in their houses, or to hide her.
At last was found ‘a worthy God-fearing man, who intrepidly
received her in his house, but secretly, because of the fury of the
people and the insurgents’. In hiding, Catherine did not feel at her
case, accustomed as she was to full liberty of action and preaching;
moreover, she did not like shunning danger in defending the
Church’s cause. In the house of her disciple—he was perhaps the
tailor Francesco di Pipino, with whom and with whose wife
Monna Agnesc she afterwards kept up a close epistolary corres¬
pondence with the purpose of strengthening them in the religious
life — s he felt rather too much restricted in her movements, so she
decided to leave the city to take refuge in ‘a solitary place, still
within Florentine territory, where hermits were wont to dwell’.
We can only guess the name of this place. Some writers believe it
was Vallombrosa, others think it was the Camaldolcse hermitage

272 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

of Santa Maria degli Angeli, at that time in the environs of
Florence; others again think she was at the Convent of San Pietro
at Monticclli, also very near the city. The traditional supposition
is that she sought shelter at Vallombrosa, and that her meetings
with Giovanni of the Cells took place in wild woodland country,
and their conversations under the blue vault of the heavens. The
Blessed Giovanni must have felt himself engulfed in the torrent
of divine love that flowed from Catherine, which explains the
very human cry of woe uttered by this hardened ascetic, accus¬
tomed to his own self-sufficiency among the rocks and stones,
when he heard of Catherine’s death: ‘How ever shall we live any
longer, now that our Mother, our consolation, is dead? What
else remains for us to do now, but mourn our desolate state?’ It is
a sorrow that finds no solace in the songs of the woodland creatures,
in the high solitude of the mountains, nor even in the contempla¬
tion of sacred things. It is an endless woe: ‘I weep for myself,
orphaned and abandoned, for the joy of my heart that has been
reft from me; therefore my eyes are darkened and dimmed with
tears; and in truth there is no remedy or consolation.’ His grief
makes him see the whole Church weeping and the earth mourn¬
ing; only the heavens hold high festival because the soul of his
friend and teacher has been received by angels’ hands. It is touch¬
ing to find this old man, who had been so happy in his solitude,
and so content with his austere thoughts and the denial of all
affections, suffering and weeping broken-heartedly for a human
being—a Saint indeed, but human. His lamentations indicate that
his intercourse with this friend of God had been of recent date—
it might well have been at this time, the end of June 1378. This is,
however, merely a sentimental and romantic conjecture, not to
be accepted as historical fact. We must await the discovery of
some new document that may lead to a solution of the problem
of where Catherine found shelter during these stormy days. In
any case, it is pleasant to think that nuns and monks were found
of sufficient courage to receive the Saint in so difficult a moment,
when the lives of her hosts might easily be endangered. We do
not even know how long she stayed in this ‘solitary place’—she
must have been impatient to return as soon as possible to Florence,
tormented by her longing to see peace established.

In her temporary home she probably heard of the stern measures

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273

that the Government of Florence had adopted against her friends
of the Party. She grieved over this and wrote a comforting letter
to Soderini. He had lost his house and wealth and had been
outlawed by the Commune: these were painful blows, but he
must not be cast down or allow himself to doubt divine provi¬
dence. It was a hard trial to which God had submitted him; he
must bear it with fortitude. All that does not directly affect the
soul, that is, ‘wealth, honours and state, pleasures, health and life
itself and all other things that are not really our own, have been
lent us for our use; when it pleases the divine goodness they may
be taken away from us’. He must firmly believe this, and consider
the loss of his house and goods as a medicine for his soul. She knew
well that her friend had been punished in this time of tribulation
without fault on his part—but that was a reason the more for
being patient, ‘for patience is the marrow of charity’, and charity
is founded in Christ. If he had charity he had Christ; moreover,
when he arrived in ‘our city of Jerusalem, that vision of peace’, he
would receive the guerdon he had deserved on earth.

In a hermitage the soul rises nearer to heaven, but the agitations
of men arc far away, as are the great social movements. Catherine,
who was essentially an active person, needed to preach, to strive,
and to win the cause of peace between the whole Republic and
the Holy See. She wished to return to Florence, and as soon as she
heard that calm had been somewhat restored, she hastened back
there to continue her work of pacification. She found lodging
once more in Piazza del Grano, in the same house, it seems, where
she had been sheltered a short while before; ‘at first she was in
hiding there, because of the rulers, who seemed to hate her’, but
as soon as rumours of a possible and approaching peace spread
through the city, and the bitter tempers were softened, she took
up once more her public work.

As soon as she arrived in Florence she wrote to the Pope. She
had known Bartolomeo Prignano at Avignon, but only slightly;
as soon as he was elected Pope she wished to establish closer con¬
tact with him, so she sent to the Papal Court some of her own
disciples to strengthen her relations with him. She may have
desired to write to him before, but had not thought it wise to do
so, for reasons unknown to us. Now the times were grave; per¬
secution of the Pope’s supporters was bitter in Florence; worse

274 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

evils still must be prevented. The most useful tiling she could do
was to write to Urban begging him to make peace at once. Her
own disciples may have requested her to write this, to avoid new
persecutions of the Guelphs, or she may have been led to do so
by her knowledge of the growing desire for peace of the Floren¬
tine people. But the war, the revolutions, the tribulations, the
difficulties which Florence and the Church and, one might say,
the world (as she knew it) were suffering, had moral causes of
infinitely greater importance than merely political or economic
considerations. ‘Iniquity abounds ever more among your sub¬
jects’, so that ‘the world cannot endure it any longer’. The reason
was to be found in the conduct of the priests who ‘abound in
wretched and wicked vices, so that they infect the whole world’.
The pride, sensuality, corruption, simony and avarice of the
ministers of the Church were the real cause of the general dissolu¬
tion. This was a conclusion she had reached several years pre¬
viously, and she had ceaselessly proclaimed it, with but mediocre
results; but now she would insist on it to the Pope, who had
serious intentions of reform, and was energetic, and seemed to be
a true Vicar of Christ.

So she wrote to Urban VI, repeating to him the ideas she had
already often expressed in her letters to Gregory XI and the great
ones of the Church. She urged Urban to be ‘a true knight and a
just shepherd’, ready, at the risk of his life, to act manfully in the
reform of the Church ‘uprooting vice and planting virtue’. The
moment had come for him to fulfil the ‘longing desires of the
servants of God, who die of grief and cannot die’; deeds, not mere
words, were needed now; he must cleanse with severity not
unmixed with love, and without any servile fear. He must begin
by appointing bishops, ‘a band of most holy men’, and Cardinals
who would come to his aid because they were themselves aided
by God. It was the evils of the Church that produced all other
evils, and the war with Florence was a consequence of these. Poor
Florentines! they were little black sheep that had strayed from the
fold; but they had not deserved too much severity. ‘Be kind’, she
pleaded with him, ‘give them peace, offer them mercy even if it
might seem to you, most holy Father, that they did not ask for it
in a pleasing way or with heartfelt sorrow for the faults com¬
mitted, as they should do, and as Your Holiness would like them

INTER ODIA CARITAS 275

to do.’ In those days, it was true, there had been grievous perse¬
cution of the Party, but this was a transitory evil; tranquillity had
now returned, and all invoked liis forgiveness. ‘Be generous, and
you will receive from the sick man all he is able to give you; in
fact, you will see that the Florentines will later on be better
children than the others.’

Meanwhile, she had heard something about Urban Vi’s
violence towards his Cardinals and other Religious, who thought
differently from himself. Fra Giovanni Terzo wrote to her that
the Pope had been annoyed with Fra Bartolomeo Dominici
because the friar had frankly told him his opinion about some
mistakes he had made; Catherine immediately wrote to Urban
again, interceding for Fra Bartolomeo, and taking upon herself
the consequences of the fault of her beloved son and father in
God: ‘He, through his fault, and because of his scrupulous con¬
science, grieved and angered you.... I beg you, for love of Christ
Crucified, to punish me for any pain he may have caused you;
for I am ready and willing to accept any discipline and correction
that may please Your Holiness.’

The days passed swiftly, crowded with events, mostly sad ones.
The Church was now threatened with schism, and Urban ran
grave risks in allowing the war with Florence to continue. He
was at Tivoli, somewhat wrathful with the Sacred College, but
good-tempered with the Florentine Ambassadors, who also
longed for peace, fearing revolts in their own city. Both the
Church and the City of the Lily were about to be tom asunder by
internal hatred, and had a clear foreboding of this. Peace was as
indispensable for Rome as it was for Florence: the negotiations
proceeded smoothly.

Catherine did not bother her head with political necessities, and
trusted in the efficacy of the letter she had written to the Pope,
and hoped God would grant her prayers. She was sure peace
would come, and come soon. In fact, on July 15 th a messenger
from Rome arrived in Florence announcing the forthcoming
peace; three days later there arrived on horseback the courier
bearing the olive branch with letters for the Signoria from the
Pope and their Ambassadors. The olive branch was placed in the
window of the Palace, and the great bell rang to summon a
Council. There were no more doubts: peace was made. The rejoic-

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

276

ing was great; the people sang, shouted, called out blessings. It
was the greatest festival and perhaps the most heartfelt, the most
overwhelmingly joyous, that had been celebrated for many years.
When night fell, torches and fires were lit; every comer of the
city, even the dreariest, wore a festive air. Joy filled the hearts of
old and young, of the strong and of the sick, of serious, thoughtful
men and of the most carefree, of the poor and of the rich. For
some hours, at least, the Florentines were one great family, kind
and generous in their joy. They ate and drank and exulted. The
trumpets sounded shrilly, and the bonfires, burning on the Piazza
della Signoria and in other parts of the city and countryside, pro¬
claimed and spread the joyful news. Peace was a gift of such
inestimable worth that the people valued it only when it had
been lost. Now everyone could tranquilly attend to his own
business, industry or trade, that had been suspended and ruined
for two years, and work for his own good and that of his family
and the State. Everyone could freely receive the Sacraments and
hear Mass. There was every reason to rejoice. Those who had a
shred of piety thanked God, praised the Pope, and exulted to share
in the mysteries of the Church. Catherine, like everyone else,
heard the glad tidings and her heart overflowed with joy. She
had put part of her soul into that peace: ‘God has heard the cry
and the voice of His servants, who have for so long cried before
His face, and the wailing they have for so long raised over their
dead sons’, she wrote at once to Sano di Maco, and to the other
children of her Family. When she saw the city given over to joy,
she was reminded of Biblical images; this peace was like a resur¬
rection; it was a victory over nature. The Florentines had come
‘from death to life, from blindness to light. Oh my dearest
children, the lame walk and the deaf hear, the blind eyes see and
the dumb speak, crying with a great voice: Peace, peace, peace!
seeing themselves once more children in the good grace and
obedience of their Father, with their hearts at peace. . . . Rejoice,
rejoice my dearest children. . . . Rejoice, exult in Christ, sweet
Jesus! Our hearts must overflow at the sight of the great and
infinite goodness of God. Now peace is made, despite those who
would have prevented it. The infernal devil is defeated.’

Her happiness was not to be enjoyed to the full: it was soon cut
short. No sooner were the festive torches extinguished, and while

INTER ODIA CARITAS

277

the ashes of the bonfires still smouldered, civil war was already
preparing. On July 20th, 'at eleven hours of the day, there was
an uprising in Florence’. Once more came days of rioting and
devastation. The lowest and poorest classes of the population were
determined to have a share in the government, and to take by
force what had not been granted to them. They armed themselves,
attacked the Palace of the Podesta, took over the government and
elected a Signoria of their own: it was the triumph of the ‘Ciompi’.
The Guelphs were again threatened and in danger; the popular
fury had turned against the Party, not because the Guelphs had
wanted peace with the Pope, but because they had abused their
power, and because they were nobles and ‘fat’ bourgeois.

Catherine was distressed and disillusioned. The peace she had
acclaimed with such enthusiasm had not entered into the hearts
of the Florentines. They had desired peace only to have a greater
liberty to hate, rob and kill each other. They were factious and
destructive. She had not taken any interest in the social struggle
between the greater and lesser Guilds, or in the desires and claims
of the popolo tninuto ; she had ingenuously believed that when
peace came the Florentines would become very pious and ask for
nothing else but to live in blissful tranquillity. She was astounded
to see that instead of this they were now attacking and murdering
each other, immediately after they had been congratulating each
other on the proclamation of peace, and the arrival of the olive
branch from Rome. She was dismayed. What could she do now
amid such confusion, and with so little good will apparent around
her, in high or low circles? Perhaps her friends and disciples
advised her to leave the city because she also was in danger. We
know nothing of her actions or thoughts during those last days
in Florence, but the fact that she left her ‘Book’ and the Papal
privileges in the house of her host Francesco di Pipino—soon
afterwards she was to send for these—leads us to suppose she had
to flee from the city. Gardner thinks she went away on the 2nd
August; Joergensen believes she arrived in Siena in the first week
in August; we have no document to prove this. When she left
Florence, the peace for which she had striven for so long had
been achieved, and her mission was concluded. The divine grace
had answered her prayer. She understood now that it would not
be possible for her to pacify the animosities that were devasting

278 my SERVANT CATHERINE

Florence; she could not bridge the profound divisions between
class and class, or transform into benevolence the hatred felt for
the Guelphs. She herself was hated, and probably in danger. Why
should she remain longer? ‘Now it seems that the devil has sowed
so much, and so unjustly, in their hearts against me that I do not
wish they should add injury to injury, for the more they add the
worse their own ruin would be.’ Was it perhaps to avoid a still
greater shame and evil for Florence, that is, the divine wrath, that
she went away?

However, whether she waited until the announcement came
that the Pope and the Florentine Ambassadors had definitely
signed the peace, on July 28th, or whether she left before, is of
no interest; if she was hi Florence during the riots of those days
we do not know what her movements were. What interests us is
her state of mind when she wrote: ‘To the Lords Priors of the
Guilds and the Gonfaloniere ofjustice of the City of Florence. The
letter was written from Siena, but perhaps she added some lines
she had dictated when on the point of leaving Florence.

There is an odd divergence between the past tense used in most
of the letter, and the present tense we find towards the end. It is
not a case of a swift passage from one to the other, such as we
often find in Catherine’s letters, nor is it careless syntax; it is as
if she were thinking and writing in two different periods of time.
First we have: ‘I set out, by divine grace . . .’ and later on: ‘I go
away consoled because there has been accomplished in me what
I set myself in my heart to do when I entered this city. ... I
depart sad and grieving because I leave this city in such trouble.’
These last words are too precise for us to believe that she is
thinking back in her imagination to Florence, while her body is
in Siena; and when she says ‘this’ city, she must be writing in
Florence. Perhaps she dictated these few lines to send them to the
Signoria by way of farewell and warning, and then, having to
leave in haste, instead of sending them, she took them with her to
Siena, and added them to the letter she wrote there, without
bothering to make the tenses agree, or to change ‘this’ city into
‘that’.

In any case, this letter shows the anguish of her soul and her
bitter disillusionment in Florence, the city she loved so much
that she thought of it as her own. Instead of rejoicing at being

INTER ODIA CARITAS

279

readmitted to the fold of Holy Church, instead of thanking God
for the blessing of peace between Father and children, the Floren¬
tines went on with their riots that caused so much injury and
anxiety. They should have waited, contritely, to have their
Masses restored, and to prepare solemn processions of thanks¬
giving, but instead they preferred to take up arms; they were
steeped in hatred, howling with rage, hurling themselves upon
the innocent. Catherine, turning to the rulers of the city, who had
lately assumed power, wrote: ‘You Signori, who have assumed
the government of the city, you would like to reform everything,
substituting class for class, but you only care for your own selves,
and you are not thinking of the welfare of the citizens as a whole;
you are partisans, and that is why you cannot put the greatness of
your city first. You have no love for others, and this makes you
powerless. You are unjust, and so you do harm. ... You wish to
reform your city, but I tell you that you will never gratify tills
desire of yours unless you succeed in casting aside all hatred and
rancour of heart, and self-love, so that you care not only for
yourselves, but for the common good of the whole city.’

This is a Catholic view of politics—and can be found in Aris¬
totle; Catherine has got beyond her usual simplicity and is urging
the government not to aim at the well-being of one single class
of citizens, but at the well-being of the whole city. The new men
who had seized power were hot-tempered, inexperienced, and in
a certain sense childlike; to be able to achieve lasting results, of real
use to the state, riper men were needed, experienced, just and
disinterested. For example: ‘You Signori’, she tells them, ‘are
sending prominent people into exile, without realising that “citi¬
zens departing never yet built a firm city”.’ They were lacking
in love and understanding; indeed, if they did not acquire these,
together with justice and faith in Christ, they would be unable
to reform their city, or keep it in peace. ‘I hoped to tell you all this
by word of mouth, for the honour of God and your own profit,
but as I have heard that you are against me, and I do not wish to
draw down on your heads the guilt of persecuting me, I have
come away, and what I intended to tell you, if I had been able to
visit you, I tell you now by letter. I have left your city very
sadly, nevertheless: what can be done through me for your
salvation shall be done by me willingly till my death, in spite of

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

280

all visible and invisible devils, who wish to hinder every holy
purpose/

The Priors of the Guilds and the Gonfaloniere of Justice, busy
as they were in their own schemes of reforming the Florentine
Republic, and full of enthusiasm for the political results obtained
by the popolo minuto and the ‘Ciompi’, must have paid small heed
to this letter. Perhaps when they read it they shook their heads
compassionately, with some relief to think that Catherine was no
longer in Florence, where she might have stirred up discontent
and incited the people to rebel against them.

Chapter X
THE BOOK

In Siena Catherine passed some calmer days. She was able to
review the results of her labours and rejoice in what had been
won for God. Two of her dearest wishes had been fulfilled—at the
cost of her tears and blood. She never doubted for a moment that
the return of the Papacy to Rome was largely due to her own
efforts, and she believed that the peace between Urban VI and the
Florentines was God’s answer to her insistent prayers. Two other
grave tasks remained to be accomplished: ecclesiastical reform and
the Crusade; but she had no fear of failure, trusting that Heaven
would graciously accept the sighs and longings of her soul.
Meanwhile she could permit herself a little time to rest, or rather
to plunge deeper into the Precious Blood of Christ, source of all
strength, that renews our energies, makes athletes of the weak,
heroes of the timid, and reveals to all the secrets of this life on
earth and of the life to come. Catherine felt serene. In Florence
she had known moments of dismay and bitter sadness at the
thought of approaching schism in the Church—but now she was
tormented by no sinister fears. She found time to prepare candied
oranges which she sent as a gift to the Pope, and she planned to
write more pages to add to her ‘Book’. She sent someone to
fetch it from the house of the tailor Francesco di Pippino in
Florence, where she had left it, possibly at the time of her hasty
departure.

It may have been during her first week in Siena that she wrote
Letter 346 (Tommaseo edition) to Urban VI. The news she had
received up to this date was disquieting but not yet catastrophic.
This letter shows some signs of anxiety, but she is serene enough
to describe with the joy of a delicate ‘primitive’ painter the gilt
and candied oranges she is sending him, and to sweeten the

281

T

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

282

bitterness of life with honey gathered from the love of Christ,
scattering around her thoughts as radiant as light. But suddenly
she passes from a more general style, full of images and meta¬
phors, to the mention of a concrete fact: ‘the case that has occurred
of those wicked and iniquitous men, lovers of themselves, who
cause distress to you and your children through their offences
against God’. There is a note of sorrow and pain, but immediately
afterwards her forthright denunciation gives place to a gentle,
forgiving smile, full of trust: ‘I hope in the goodness of our sweet
Creator, who will remove from us the cause of this sorrow and
illumine or confound those who are the cause of it’.

Fawtier maintains that this ‘case that has occurred’ refers, not
to the death of‘several Roman notables’ at the hands of the Breton
Captain Silvcstre Budcs, as Burlamacchi asserts, but to the mani¬
festo issued against Urban VI by the schismatic Cardinals, gathered
at Anagni, on August 9th, 1378. This is possible, but has not
been proved; in fact, judging from the relatively calm tone of
Catherine’s letter, it seems more probable that the ‘distress’ caused
to the Pope by the ‘case that has occurred’ referred to the exodus
of the Cardinals from Rome, which took place before June
24th. These Cardinals, says Cristoforo da Piacenza, had left Rome
‘intending to rebel’, which saddened and irritated Urban VI so
much that he summoned them to appear before him on a certain
day in July 1378, at Tivoli, to give an account of themselves.
Catherine may have learnt about this later, and since the Cardinals
were intending to rebel but not yet in open rebellion, she may
have hoped to be able to smooth out the quarrel. Even the Curia
seems to have still hoped for some means of reconciliation. It was
therefore quite natural for Catherine, with the incomplete
information she had, to trust to God for a settlement of the dispute.

It was impossible for the Pope and his Cardinals to understand
one another. They belonged to two worlds far removed from
each other, if not mutually hostile. Urban VI was a rigid moralist
and somewhat narrow-minded. As an Abbot of reformed monas¬
teries he would have been great; as a Pope he was mediocre. He
was right in condemning the corruption of the clergy and their
lack of apostolic zeal; but he was deficient in that love that wins
hearts and lifts men above themselves. He was austere, honest,
dignified; he wanted his priests to follow a simple upright way of

THE BOOK 283

life; he aimed at making the Church pure and exemplary. With
all these excellent virtues St Paul would have told him that he
was but sounding brass, for he lacked the indispensable Christian
virtue: charity. At certain moments his unbending will and
unyielding severity gave him an almost monumental grandeur—
yet this did not help him to reform others. His wrathful and
violent manners alienated most men's sympathies. He sincerely
desired, with great enthusiasm and conviction, to reform the
morals of his clergy and eradicate simony; but the clergy de¬
manded that Christ’s Vicar should first of all reform himself, to
give an effective example. The truth is that he desired to dominate
others, but he could not control his own choleric outbursts, or
Ills vindictive desires. He was guilty’ of nepotism, and appro¬
priated church property to get money for his war. He was no
psychologist, and lacked tact and finesse. If he had been ‘a terrible
man’ at the right moment, and with intelligence, he would have
won great advantages for the Church, but he often attacked the
priests unreasonably; he was violent with the Cardinals, he made
wrathful accusations, and treated them as filth. ‘He began to
despise the Cardinals, and heap all sorts of insults upon them, so
that after a few days none of them liked him.’ As a politician he
had no success, and was only able to make peace with the Floren¬
tines by giving up advantages that might have accrued to the
Holy See. Men said he was very wise in Church matters before he
became Pope, when he was Vice-Chancellor to Gregory XI, but
probably the merit of this wisdom should be attributed to
Gregory, who gave him clear and precise orders which he
scrupulously obeyed. Once he was made Pope, he showed
neither shrewd intelligence nor grandeur of ideas, and because of
his awkward and unaccommodating character he dragged the
Church nearer to the greatest disaster that befell her before the
Protestant Reformation: the Great Schism. Yet Urban VI
thought only of the welfare and greatness of the Church, was
most sensitive and conscientious about his duty, loved devout
men, admired and listened to Saints, and had just intentions.
Unhappily, he set his heart on rigid schemes; his strictness became
harshness, his zeal fanaticism, and his sense of duty obstinacy. His
hair shirt bit into his flesh, only to render him implacable with
those who disagreed with him. He read the Sacred Scriptures

284 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

with more evident affection for the Old than for the New Testa¬
ment. His austerity often led him to cruelty, and his indignation
to injustice. He will became his law, and, intolerant of opposition,
he thought it was necessary to humiliate whoever would not
obey him. It is not surprising that the Chroniclers of that age
describe him with scant sympathy: ‘He was a learned man and a
good cleric; but with an unsteady head, excitable, changeable and
arrogant’. One can understand how it was that all forsook him
in the end. He was left in a barren solitude, and, after eleven years
of unhappy rule, died, as Platina tells us, mourned by very few.

The Cardinals, on the other hand, wer c grands seigneurs , valiant
warriors, men of the world. They were used to resorting to
compromise in all affairs concerning the Holy See, and they
sought for a possible compromise on every occasion. Tolerant
with others, they were even more tolerant with themselves,
softening Christianity so as to make it easy and pleasant. Why
should they insist on a strict morality, when man lives such a
brief life here on earth, and is weakness personified? Were there
not enough ascetics and Saints in the Church to represent aus¬
terity? A Prince of the Church who had a political mission to
fulfil, or must command an army, or be a diplomat, may not and
must not live a monastic life. These Cardinals loved honours,
luxury and pomp, and to acquire these they needed great wealth.
How could they procure this except by simony, a practice they
were not prepared to give up? Some of them were avaricious,
ambitious and vain—delighted in sumptuous banquets, did not
disdain the pleasures of Venus, desired to live a life of ease, hi
Church they prostrated themselves and prayed, but once outside
they soon forgot the Gospel, and desired the good things of this
world. The sacred and the profane mingled marvellously in their
consciences. For them Rome was full of difficulties and dangers,
and they longed to return to Avignon. They enjoyed governing
their cities, and were interested in festivals, horses, games and
armies, wars and reigning dynasties. They were conventional and
slaves to etiquette. Pride would not let them allow their prestige
to be lessened. In their arrogance they considered themselves the
Pope’s co-operators, not his subordinates. They were shrewd
diplomats and they knew how to use cunning and deceit to
achieve their ends and protect themselves.

TILE BOOK

285

Men of this sort could not be expected to endure the intransi¬
gence, the humiliating impositions and the angry insults of
Urban VI. By lineage and because of their greater political skill
they considered themselves superior to the Archbishop of Bari,
whom they had drawn out of obscurity, but who, now he had
been elected Pope, intended to impose his will. They had cer¬
tainly chosen him, not because they thought him fit to exercise
such great authority with propriety, but because the circumstances
of the Conclave had obliged them to do so. It is well-known that
this Conclave had been held amidst the howls and threats of the
populace, demanding a Roman or at least an Italian Pope, and
that the Cardinals, mostly Limousins and French, had been terri¬
fied. They had known but superficially the Archbishop of Bari;
when they chose him to be Pope, at the instance of Cardinal
Pietro di Luna, it was chiefly because of his birthplace, because of
the offices he had held, and his praiseworthy devotion and care
in the direction of state affairs. But the truth was that the Pope
had no respect for the Sacred College, and the College heartily
returned his distrust and scorn.

The mutual incomprehension between the Pope and his Car¬
dinals soon expressed itself in skirmishes and then in open strife.
The Cardinals withdrew to Anagni, where they deliberated how
best to bend Urban to their will, or overthrow him. Meanwhile
even the Italian Cardinals, Corsini, Orsini and Brossano, who
until then had remained neutral observers, on July 26th forsook
Urban and went to Vicovaro and thence to Palestrina. Here
began colloquies and discussions and negotiations between the
Italian and the foreign Cardinals, to try to find some measure of
agreement and unity. But they could neither agree nor unite.
Then the foreign Cardinals sent a latter from Anagni to Urban
VI, inviting him to renounce the Papal throne; on August 9th
they composed and issued an encyclical letter, the real manifesto
of the Schism. They described Urban as an ambitious man who,
out of lust for power, had deceived the Church and was destroy¬
ing its unity; he was the intruder, the anti-Pope, to be shunned,
condemned, opposed. It was true that they, the Cardinals, had
elected him, but only out of fear of the Roman populace; now
that they had re-acquired their freedom of action they considered
they had the right, for the good of the Church, to elect another

286 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

Pope. The encyclical was the signal for inevitable division in the
Church, and struck desolation into the hearts of all true Christians.
It was no longer possible to find a formula of agreement or peace,
or even a compromise. People began to take sides for the Pope,
or for the Cardinals, and the sinister dispute grew rapidly worse.

Meanwhile, Urban VI, with his despotic character and tactless
ways, had alienated, among others, Onorato Caetani, the Count
of Fondi, and Otto of Brunswick, the husband of Queen Giovanna
of Naples. The dissident Cardinals rejoiced at this, and as Anagni
was likely to become unsafe they moved, on August 27th, to
Fondi, where they were protected by the Count’s militia. In the
meantime, Urban had been casting about for supporters and
defenders, and on September 18th had created twenty-nine
new Cardinals. The Schismatics replied by opening their Con¬
clave, two days later. Even the three Italian Cardinals, who had
left Palestrina for Subiaco, now went to Fondi, to take part in the
Conclave which was held in the Caetani Palace. They did not
themselves vote, but hoped the votes of the other Cardinals
would be in their favour. Instead, Cardinal Robert of Geneva
was elected. This choice seems a strange one, considering the
sinister fame he enjoyed in Italy for having been responsible for
the massacre of Cesena. The Sacred College, however, did not
worry about offending Italian sensibility; its members were
anxiously calculating the political advantages that might result for
them from this choice. From the purely political point of view
the election was well thought out; Robert was still young, only
thirty-six, active and energetic. He also was a grand seigneur ; he
came from an eminent and powerful family, and could boast of
being related to the chief princely families of Europe. He spoke
several languages, understood the art of government, had shown
warlike qualities. Although not French, he was a friend of France
and a cousin of Charles V. He was agile of body and mind,
courageous, and ready to give his life for the safety of the Church.
He was an eloquent speaker, generous, adroit and attractive.
Having occupied important offices in the Curia, he knew well the
constitution of the Church. Because of all these advantages which
he possessed he seemed to be a man who could successfully oppose
Urban VI. But he was lacking in piety and an absolute moral
sense. He has been well called ‘the man of liberal conscience’, and

THE BOOK 287

from a superior point of view this was a grave defect; but when
the Cardinals were planning to create a strong Church State, not
a State Church, they considered that Robert of Geneva was more
likely to succeed in this than any of the other Cardinals—that he
would maintain the splendour and grandeur of the Church, and
gather around him all Catholic Europe. So he was elected and
proclaimed Pope on September 21st, 1378, with the name of
Clement VII, and on October 31st he was solemnly crowned in
the Cathedral of Fondi.

During these grave occurrences Catherine was continuing in
Siena her work of spiritual and material aid to the needy; she
was writing letters of warning to those most deeply engaged in
the dispute, and of encouragement and advice to her friends and
disciples, such as the letters to Lodovica di Granello, Neri di
Landoccio, Monna Agnese and her husband Francesco di Pipino,
a ‘grumbling Florentine lady’, and Tora Gambacorta. She was
revising the pages she had already written of her Book, and was
immersed in prayer and meditation. She had ecstasies and visions,
which she described or commented upon according to the
promptings of the divine voice within her. She wished to com¬
plete her Book and wanted it to be an organic whole, the fruit
of her deepest religious experiences, a sort of testament to guide
disciples and friends when she had left the world. It was to be the
crystalline mirror of her life and thought, expressing all her joy
in contact with divine love, her exaltation when immersed in
Christ, her rapture at her own deification; it was to be, as it were,
a projection of her own spirit, perhaps for all times and all places.

While she was intent on her Book she found time to follow the
vicissitudes of the Papacy, through the news she received from
friars, friends and acquaintances, her official source of information
being still Fra Raimondo who was a sincere and enthusiastic
Urbanite and had become intimate with the Pope. Mortier tells
us that Fra Raimondo was Urban’s ‘strongest support and most
prudent counsellor. He sustained his courage and inspired him
with such boldness that he could rally his energies even in moments
of weariness, to continue the fight against his foes’; other writers
say that Urban called Fra Raimondo ‘suum caput , oculos , os, linguam ,
mams ct pedes suos\ However this may be, it seems to us doubtful
whether the Pope accepted Fra Raimondo’s advice. Their tern-

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peraments were too dissimilar; the future General of the Domini¬
cans was a prudent, tactful man, while Urban had no tact at all.
Fra Raimondo was a politician, the Pope most impolitic; Fra
Raimondo was calm and knew how to bide his time, while
Urban was violent and impulsive. They may have found them¬
selves in agreement in their dislike of the French Cardinals, and in
wishing the Papacy to be Italian and remain in Rome; but we
are not convinced that the Pope accepted Fra Raimondo’s
counsels. Moreover, if we were to attribute to the efficacy of the
advice given by the Dominican the results of Urban’s pontificate,
these would hardly redound to the glory of Fra Raimondo, since
they did not succeed in averting the Schism. It is more probable
that Urban would not listen to any of his counsellors, however
wise they might be, because in important matters he always
wanted to decide for himself; he availed himself of the help of
others only to further his own designs. Fra Raimondo’s support
was probably limited to encouraging him to be manly in his
struggle, and, above all, he must have begged him to surround
himself with pious and holy prelates, and to seek the aid of
Catherine of Siena. And, in fact, he did seek her aid.

Catherine, for her part, was a faithful interpreter of the political
thought of Fra Raimondo. The letters he sent to her were not
merely informative; they contained advice, judgments, proposals
for action. The events themselves had to be presented to her in
such a way as to induce her to enter the struggle on Urban’s side.
Who better than Catherine could try to isolate the schismatic
Cardinals and work for the victory of the Urbanite cause? She
did not enter into the whys and wherefores of the quarrel, did not
weigh carefully the actions, circumstances and intentions of the
Cardinals, or admit that there had been attenuating circum¬
stances; it was enough for her to know that the Cardinals had
rebelled against the Pope they had themselves formally elected;
therefore they had sinned against God, and transformed them¬
selves into devils. Had they elected him because they were
frightened? This motive could not be proffered as an excuse.
According to Catherine, Christ’s priests must never act out of
fear—in fact, they must not know what fear is. Besides, having
elected him they had crowned him and sworn allegiance to him;
Urban VI was therefore the true Vicar of Christ, and they were

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proved to be liars and persecutors of the just and the good.

Urban VI, as the Vicar of Christ, had the right to demand all
things of all Christians, who, without exception, were bound to
submit to him and obey him. Here was Onorato Caetani, for
example, quarrelling with the Pope: in Catherine's eyes a deplor¬
able act of rebellion. What did it matter if Urban unjustly refused
to restore to the Count of Fondi the florins the Count had lent
to Gregory XI? Was it a sufficient reason for rebelling against
Urban simply because he had been deposed by the Government
of Campania? To the Vicar of Christ we owe nothing but obedi¬
ence : ‘Even if he were such a cruel father to us as to hunt us in
shame from one end of the world to the other, making us suffer
every imaginable pain, we must still neither forget nor deny this
truth’. Here also Catherine does not consider man as a citizen or
politician, but only as a Christian, judging every action according
to an absolute spiritual principle. Was Onorato Caetani not a
Christian ? Therefore it was his duty to obey the Pope on every
occasion. By his rebellion he had descended to the level of a beast,
and was bringing about his own spiritual death and that of others.
For this reason she wrote to him in indignation and sorrow. In her
letter accusations and rebukes spring out abundantly amid the
allegories and images. She wanted to pierce the Count’s conscience
and humiliate him, but to save him too; she struggled to convince
him of the injustice of his revolt, and of the necessity of repenting
his sin and seeking his salvation. He had become too closely con¬
nected with the schismatic Cardinals, ‘those who had contamin¬
ated the faith and denied the truth’; now it was time to detach
himself from them and to become once more a faithful subject of
Urban. He must make haste to subdue all self-love, assume the
yoke of humility and obedience, and try by every means to avert
God’s terrible impending judgment. But this letter, even if it
reached the Count of Fondi, had no effect whatever.

Towards the middle of September 1378 the state of the Church
had become wretched indeed. Most of the clergy had abandoned
Urban VI. The anti-Pope was about to be chosen. The news that
came from Rome or from Fondi to the various Christian centres
was about divisions, unrest and struggles, and brought dismay.
The bonds that held ecclesiastics together began to loosen, while
order in the hierarchy became confused. The bishops were uncer-

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tain whether to follow Urban or the Cardinals; in the monasteries
and convents, and among the secular clergy, all were taking sides.
Everywhere was uncertainty for the morrow, diminution of
authority, confusion, demoralisation. In Siena Catherine observed
all this and suffered. The whole world seemed topsy-turvy, and
there was no longer a comer where one could find peace: fi As it
is here, so it is everywhere else, and especially in this city of ours
where in the temple of God, which is a house of prayer, they have
made a den of thieves—and caused such wretchedness that it is
a wonder the earth does not swallow us up’. So she wrote on
September 18th to Urban VI, agitated and weeping with emotion.
But the bitterness she felt did not weaken her courage; the words
of encouragement to the Pope flowed vigorously from her pen.
For her Urban was an innocent target for the treacherous blows
of vicious and furtive men: he was the champion of truth and
justice, while they were the sons of iniquity. There was no time
to be lost—the dangers that were threatening were many, and
very grave; resolute action was necessary. He must be a manly
Pope—he must wield the knife of the hatred of vice and strike
without pity: ‘O most holy and most sweet Father’ (that ‘most
sweet’ addressed to Urban VI strikes a discordant note), ‘now is
the time for you to draw this sword so that Your Holiness may
put an end to their disorderly living and wicked ways and con¬
duct’. He must not ‘countenance their corruption’ but be a severe
judge and strike hard. ‘May the starry flower of holy justice shine
fearlessly in your heart!’ She told him she suffered for the Church
and for him and wished to be near him, to exhort him to fight,
and to share with him the sufferings and the joy of battle. The
idea of battle excited her spirit and made her thrill with desire: ‘I
want no more words, but to find myself on the field of battle,
suffering and fighting by your side for truth, even unto death,
for the glory and praise of God’s name and for the reform of Holy
Church’.

The news she receives is more and more disquieting: at Fondi
the schismatic Sacred College has elected the anti-Pope. On
October 5th she writes again to Urban, inspired by holy wrath,
but curbing her indignation as well as she can. Their enemies
strike grievous blows, but in the long run what can they hope to
achieve? Holiness, truth and light will always triumph, and since

THE BOOK 291

the Cardinals and their allies are the negation of these ‘the blows
of the wicked, wretched lovers of themselves will not wound you;
they will not destroy the affection of your heart, nor the Bride,
Holy Church. You, the true Pope, are Christ-on-earth and in
truth no one can harm you/ She urges him, however, to plunge
into the thick of the fight. Fear must not weaken his action: ‘God
fights for His Church, which you represent; you will see that
Christ will turn against your foes the poisoned darts they hurl
against you. But you must take refuge at once in the wounded
side of Christ, because only there can you find the strength and
the counsel you need to overcome those devils. . . . Let your soul
expand in the sweet joy of charity without any fear, and victory
will be yours/ Human help is always unsure and ineffectual, and
never more so than at this moment. Our times are tragic, but
nevertheless we shall win through: ‘if we hope in God with all
our heart, all our love, all our strength’. He must beware: the
enemy is powerful, and uses every means to conquer him. ‘I know
that people plot against you; be prudent; observe every precaution
with regard to yourself/ He must provide himself with a body¬
guard of good and virtuous priests—she also would like to be
with him. ‘I shall know no peace imtil I find myself in the
presence of Your Holiness; because I want to give my blood and
my life, and consume the marrow of my bones for Holy Church.’
She is seized once more by a strong desire for martyrdom; she
feels she was bom to fight and suffer; she wishes to be a warrior
in Urban’s cause.

She wrote to the Pope to fortify him in his purpose and
strengthen his courage, but she felt impelled to write also to the
three Italian Cardinals who had taken part in the Conclave during
which the anti-Pope had been elected. So she wrote them a long
letter, rebuking them but at the same time trying to recall them
to their duty. She could not understand the motives for their
conduct; even setting aside the religious principles involved and
judging them from a purely human standpoint, she could find no
justification for their actions. In the case of the French Cardinals
she could find some sort of explanation, if not excuse, in their love
for their own land, but what love could have induced the Italian
Cardinals to revolt, except self-love? ‘Humanly speaking, with
Christ-on-earth an Italian and you yourselves Italians, you cannot

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have been moved by love for your country, like the other
Cardinals, and therefore I can only see self-love in all this.’ In her
fierce condemnation she found words that bit, and thrusts that
drew blood. The three Cardinals had loved the body more than
the soul; therefore they had preferred corruption to the fullness of
life; a real darkness of the soul had fallen upon them—indeed, a
mental and spiritual decay. What was our body? Here she re¬
echoed the words of Innocent III in his Dc Contemptu Mutidi:
‘Our corporal life is so ugly that as long as we live we stink all
over. We are merely sacks full of excrement, the food of worms,
the food of death.’ The three Cardinals had made themselves a
bed for worms: her disgust was so great that she started attacking
them at the beginning of her letter—while usually she began in a
more general way, with forewords and spiritual prefaces, medita¬
tions or remarks, leading up to reproofs or accusations. ‘I write
to you’, she said, ‘because I hope you will come forth from the
shadows and disassociate yourselves from death; I have called you
“Fathers”, not because you are such now, but because I hope you
will once again become “Fathers” when you return to be united
in faith and perfect obedience to Pope Urban VI, in whose
obedience remain all those who have light by which they recog¬
nise the truth, and, recognising it, embrace it.’ Having forsaken
the Pope, they have become contaminators of the faith and have
spread abroad such a stench that they have made the whole world
stink. ‘Now then—do not tell me stories about that Conclave;
you have deliberately chosen and crowned Urban VI and you
have promised allegiance to him; either you elected him in all
sincerity, in which case you are now reprobates to deny him, or
you elected him falsely, in which case you have always been liars
and idolaters. The truth is that you could not bear the Pope’s
reproaches and corrections, and so you have rebelled. I should
like at least to enlighten your consciences a little; I should like to
persuade you to acknowledge your fault, and I should like you,
in all humility, to return to the obedience of the true Vicar of
Christ. The fold is open; it awaits you—go in. Why do you run
away from it? Draw close, instead. You will be received with
mercy by Christ-in-Hcaven and by Christ-on-earth, in spite of
the wicked sin you have committed.’

But it was not enough to write to the Italian Cardinals—it was

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293

necessary to try to prevent Giovanna, the Queen of Naples, from
supporting the Schismatics. Catherine had as yet no certain
information about the Queen’s decision, but she considered it was
her duty at least to warn her not to enter into a league with
Urban’s enemies. The Count of Cascrta and Niccolo Spinclli had
represented Giovanna at Fondi, but there had been no formal
adherence, and she could not therefore be openly accused. The
rumours that circulated in Rome, which Fra Raimondo passed
on to Catherine, were still unreliable. Had the Queen really
wanted the election of the anti-Pope? Was she seriously support¬
ing the Schismatics, or was her attitude merely a feint to gain
time, so that she could observe the turn of events? Statements and
denials followed each other in quick succession in those days, and
Catherine could not openly rebuke the Queen, as she would have
done if her information had been sure. She wrote diplomatically,
saying little, making general observations and attacking the
schismatic Cardinals ‘to make the Queen understand’, as Tom-
masco observes; she did not accuse her directly; in fact, her whole
letter was one of courteous persuasion; if she hinted at disap¬
proval, that was for the future in case the Queen should choose to
side with the anti-Pope. Her rebukes were gentle, her threats
closely veiled. She meant to prevent Giovanna from declaring
herself Urban’s enemy, and she asked of her, if not allegiance, at
least neutrality, and attendance on God’s enlightenment of her
soul. She wrote to her because she was fond of her and wanted to
satisfy her own conscience. It was the Cardinals who were
poisoning souls, and against them she hurled her darts. She would
willingly have been even more violent, for she wished to resort
to ‘deeds rather than words’ against them; but not being able to
resort to deeds she took up the weapon of prayer, which she
hoped would dissuade the Queen from her intention of protecting
the Schismatics, and induce her to remain loyal to Urban VI and
support him in the grievous conflict of the hour.

This external activity did not draw her away from her religious
meditations, and if she suffered moments of bitterness, or even of
dismay, she very soon regained her serenity and confidence. The
deeds of men, even the gravest and most scandalous, not only did
not disturb the peace of her spiritual life, but in certain moments
seemed of trifling importance compared with those eternal truths

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that God revealed to her in the depths of her soul. She detached
herself from the external world, whenever she could, to lose
herself in the warmth and light that welled up in her soul and
restored all to harmony. Here she found true wealth, and power,
and communion with the divine; here was the highest bliss. As
soon as she began to meditate, her meditation changed to con¬
templation, and this to ecstasy: ecstasies of Paradise, which
thrilled her with joy.

How could she impart to others, in a lasting medium, her
visions and ecstasies? How could she give permanent form, for
her own benefit and for the benefit of others too, to the sweetness
and grandeur of God’s words, which she heard so clearly uttered
within her, but which, when she tried to repeat them, seemed to
fade and lose their power? Her friends and disciples were con¬
tinually asking her to teach them, and she had nothing of greater
worth to leave them than the faint echo of the words spoken to
her by Christ. In moments of doubt or dryness, would it not be
well, for her own sake too, to be able to re-read, gathered
together in a volume, the sum of her spiritual experiences? The
compilation of this book became a necessity for herself and for
others. It was true that in her letters she had often given free play
to the exuberance of her feelings, but many of these letters had
been written, not in response to her own need for self-expression,
but for special occasions, and in spite of their efficacy—naturally,
she knew that her letters exercised a profound influence on those
who received them—they were, for the most part, neither
planned nor well-constructed. She now desired to compose a
book that should contain and hand down to future generations
the message of words that she believed God had spoken to her. It
must be a book of solid doctrine, for the use of all the faithful. She
thought of it as a new presentation of traditional Christian motifs ,
the centuries-old teachings of the Church, as these had re-echoed
in her soul with a resonance peculiarly her own.

We do not know for certain when she first thought of com¬
posing this volume. We find the first draft of the book, a ‘Dia¬
logue’, in Letter 272 (Dupre-Theseider edition) which Catherine
sent to Fra Raimondo when she was in the Valle dell’ Orcia
during October 1377. Eugene Dupre-Theseider has very carefully
studied the genesis of the ‘Dialogue’, and, basing his research on

THE BOOK 295

Fawtier’s well attested conclusions, has clearly proved that
Catherine had begun to work on her book in October 1377, and
that it was completed before she heard of the election of the
anti-Pope Clement VII, that is, before the end of September, 13 78.

It was a great labour that Catherine undertook. She had to
amplify and modify the structure of the original ‘Dialogue’. She
had to compile and to compose: to gather together the best
material from her own letters, select with care, concentrate some
passages, expand others, and co-ordinate the whole. By herself
she could not do all this, and therefore she availed herself of the
help of her disciples, particularly of those who were men of
letters or theologians. It was a collaboration controlled by herself,
and when, as often happened, she perceived that new sections
must be added, then the task was hers alone. Some of her experi¬
ences were recalled and found useful for her book; her daily
intercourse with men and women suggested various and original
ways of instruction; the political and ecclesiastical events of the
day offered her a pretext for new reflections; her prayers revealed
new meanings and analogies, her raptures included visions that
could usefully be related. But before adding anything she felt the
need to read over again, or have read to her, what she had written
and compiled in the preceding months. Therefore at the beginning
of 1378 she sent to ask Francesco di Pipino for her book, adding:
‘because I want to write certain tilings’. She wanted the book to
be a complete whole, and so, in fact, it is. Every now and then
the style halts a little, the colouring fades, and the inspiration
seems to flag; but the purposefulness of the entire work never fails,
and if we read all the ‘Dialogue’ without a break we have the
impression of a homogeneous whole. It is true that some passages
are long and monotonous; yet they grip our attention by means
of some revealing words that echo in our soul lovingly and clearly.
The ‘Dialogue’ has not the fascination of some works written by
profound mystical writers; it docs not strike fear into our hearts,
or cast us wretched suppliants to the dust. There is a gentle
enchantment in it that makes us despise the life of the senses, and
draws our souls towards the mystical life. In the pauses of her
starkest and most vigorous passages we overhear a melody sung
by an entrancing voice. The whole book has a calm and a serenity
that suggests visions of spring landscapes, lit by silvery-gold

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sunlight, in which the green trees and the fields of corn have the
freshness of springing life. Her world is this world of men, and
her eloquence is the result of burning experience. Catherine
loved men, every man and all men, and gave herself wholly for
their well-being.

At times, her outpourings of prayer affect us more than the
dialectic she attributes to God, but the former is but the conse¬
quence of the latter, with which she fed and formed her mind.
There is in the ‘Dialogue’ a sort of duel between the cold, logical
reasoning of God and the loving impulse of the soul, but this
apparent contrast is due to Catherine’s desire for equilibrium,
which finds its solution in a harmony between the mind and the
heart. Gardner found something abrupt and abstract in the words
attributed to God, as if they were mysterious syllables dropping
from above the clouds through a great silence; in listening to Him
our attention is strained, and this leads to a certain monotony.
There is an element of truth in this, but it is also true that the
colder tones offset the warmer, and that in a well conceived com¬
position both are necessary. In the ‘Dialogue’ the word of God is
didactic and explanatory, expressed with logical precision; never¬
theless, it unites and merges also with the longing and anxiety of
the soul that seeks Him. There is therefore an alternating rhythm
of serene theological thought and imperious impulses which seek
to break the bonds of earthly life to plunge the soul into the
mystery of God.

We have at the same time the close reasoning and equilibrium
of a positive intellect that deals with virtues and vices, with the
significance of this earthly life and with theological and ecclesias¬
tical questions, and outbursts of feeling expressed in words which
they endow with new meanings, to understand which one must
share in that world in which Catherine lived: a world syllogistic-
ally unknowable, but one that can be experienced through an
impulse of the spirit, and whose light and heat pervade our souls
as soon as we abandon ourselves to it. It is the kingdom of grace,
the realm of our deification. No precise or definite words can
describe it because it is vision beyond all sight, and feeling that
eludes definition. When experienced it produces an extraordinary
state of mind, which is often expressed in terms of wonder,
trembling, enchantment—-just as exclamations and interjections

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297

ire at times the only appropriate means of describing an experi¬
ence that is not linked with the world of the senses: ‘that the eye
:hat sees does not see, the ear that hears does not hear, the tongue
:hat tells does not tell—the hand that touches does not touch, the
feet that go there do not find’. The mystics try hard to express the
world they have experienced with such transports of joy, but all
:hey can do is to endow their words with a breath of life, which
enables them to be immediately understood by mystical natures
while remaining meaningless for all others. For this reason, it
>eems useless to apply aesthetic theories, however brilliant, to the
writings of mystics; if it is at least partially true that poets are
wholly understood only by other poets, it is even more true that
mystics are understood only by mystics.

Catherine takes us with her ‘Dialogue’ to the threshold of the
Unknowable, pausing on the way to consider man and his nature,
rying to arrive at an understanding of various religious, moral,
heological, political and social problems of her time—some of
hem problems of all times.

God created man by an act of love, and therefore we are all
trees of love’, and, if we wish to live, we must love. But the
latural effusion of love may be poured out either on ourselves or
m our neighbour. One love excludes the other. In the former we
lave self-love, which is a perversion of real love, and the root of
ill evil. ‘All the scandals and hatred and cruelty and all evil pro¬
ved from this perverse root of self-love. It has poisoned the whole
world, and sickened the mystical body of Holy Church and the
iniversal body of the Christian religion.’

True love, instead, is directed towards God, but actually it is
loured out to our neighbour because, however much we love
3 od, we can never love Him enough. So the degree of our love
■or our neighbour represents our degree of love for God: ‘To Me
/■ou cannot render the love that I require of you; so I have given
/'ou this means of loving your neighbour so that you may do to
lim what you cannot do to Me; that is, you may love him fear-
essly, freely, and without expecting any reward’. This identifica-
:ion becomes even closer because it becomes one thing with divine
ove: ‘love of Me and love of your neighbour is one and the same
hing; and as much as the soul loves Me it loves him, because the
ove of him comes from Me’. It is natural, therefore, that the soul

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298

enamoured of God should try to be of service to the whole
world: ‘In common and in particular, little or much, according
to the disposition of him who receives and the burning desire of
him who gives’.

Love is the central spring of human life, and when it becomes
purified so as to be totally disinterested, and learns to love for
love’s own sake, it is charity: that is, a fire that comes from God
and takes possession of heart and mind, and produces all the
virtues. These are the foundation of life; philosophers have extolled
them, Saints have practised them to a heroic degree; there can be
no solid social construction without them. The virtues are alive
and give life, because they are rooted in charity; just as our love is
of worth in so far as it is directed towards our neighbour, so virtues
also become perfect only through our service to our neighbour.
Thus there is formed a circle through love, charity, our neigh¬
bour and the virtues, a circle fed and vivified by love, that renders
man pleasing to God: ‘just as with the woman who has conceived
a child within herself—until she brings him to birth before the eyes
of creatures, her husband will not believe that he has a son; so I,
God, am the Husband of the soul, and until the soul brings to birth
her child, virtue, in charity towards her neighbour, showing it to
all, in general and in particular as is necessary, as I told her to do—
until she does this, I say, she has not conceived virtue’.

But charity, although given a pre-eminent place among the
virtues, is only acquired through the use of the intellect. This is to
some extent Thomist intellectualism, but it is also a conception
that springs naturally to Catherine’s mind. ‘The intellect is the
noblest part of the soul.’ It is superior to the will and has direct
knowledge; nevertheless it does not dominate of itself: ‘the
intellect is moved by affection and nourishes affection’. Here one
sees Catherine’s innate desire for harmony. She considers the life
of man as the result of carefully measured faculties; repeating the
Augustinian conception of the soul as formed of intellect, will and
memory, she balances the powers in such a way as to produce a
useful mutual interchange and support. Thus the intellect sees the
will of God; love is the substance of man; the memory retains the
fruits of both. When life is conceived of in this way we no longer
find a contradiction when she affirms that man can only live by
love, and then goes on to say that love follows knowledge, be-

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cause the two faculties necessarily supplement each other; thence
she concludes that ‘he who knows most loves most, and he who
loves most receives most’. This is knowledge of a theological-
moral character, at times psychological, never philosophical: a
knowledge that is completed by the increase of charity; that is,
knowledge in God through the eye of the intellect, which is of
no worth unless it expresses itself in virtue: virtue that means
renunciation, self-sacrifice, dedication to others. In giving all of
ourselves we find ourselves, and through a spiritual process we
rise from others to God, just as before we had descended from God
to others. In any case, man needs to act: ‘whether he wishes it or
not, he can accomplish nothing except by expressing charity in
action’. Alas! generally our activity is wholly directed towards
our personal gratification; thus it is changed into self-love, and
this prevents us from raising ourselves to God, because self-love
‘is a cloud that steals the light of reason’, and of faith also, since
faith is bound to reason; if one is lost the other is lost too. But
real love teaches discretion: that is, ‘the real knowledge that the
souls must have of itself and of Me (God)’. Since the activity of
man on earth is directed by charity, it follows that all the virtues
are included in this. We have, in fact, patience, ‘the Queen who
rules over all the virtues because she is at the heart of charity’, and
patience, accompanied by perseverance, is linked with humility.
Humility is the nurse of obedience, and the foster-mother and
nurse of charity. The need to establish the close interdependence
of the virtues and to bind them to each other in one whole makes
Catherine fall into contradictions, as when she says that charity is
the mother of all the virtues (therefore mother of patience and
humility among these) and then says patience is the heart of
charity and humility the foster-mother and nurse of charity. But S
these are contradictions soon lost sight of, when considered sym¬
bolically, and it is possible, with but slight adjustments of the
sense, to preserve intact the unifying bond between all the virtues.
Catherine’s desire to unify all, and to include every good tiling ^
and every perfect thing in the unity of God, is what makes the
greatness of her conception. The virtue, she says, without which
it is impossible to live an individual or social or political life, is
justice, the animating soul of divine and civil laws, the arbiter of
all relations between men, and between states.

300 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

These virtues, animated by love, are power and perfection, but
do not of themselves permit a man to pass beyond the state
common to all Christians. When they are active, they make
people, families, cities and States what they should be; but they
do not constitute a final goal. The human spirit has far greater
powers, for it may reach out to the divine light, and be so filled
and purified and enflamed by this as to feel possessed by grace,
which enables it to share in the divine life. But unhappily this
state, that should be normal to all, is shunned or despised by the
majority of men; and, even if it is true that ‘the soul by its own
nature always desires the good’, it often strays from nature or is
violently tom away. When in this way the soul is estranged from
the life of love, and prefers to sail alone on a stormy sea that has no
shores or points of reference, all sense of direction is lost, and the
soul suffers shipwreck and is drowned in sin, or rather, according
to what Catherine has learnt from St Augustine and St Thomas,
it is drowned in nothingness which, being null and void, annuls
the soul. It is not surprising that when we are estranged from love
we are beaten by furious and adverse waves, and become a prey
to anxieties, pains and sorrows, so that the whole earth, because of
sin, is plunged into sadness. Instead of virtue men have chosen
fleshly lusts, envy, avarice, pride, cruelty, arrogance—in fact, all
the vices that cloud the clear light of the soul; we follow a
wretched, bloody way of life, and when we laugh it is but to hide
the spasms of pain caused by the cancer that gnaws our vital
parts. Earthly life has been made corrupt, and even the Church
has fallen under the dominion of self-love, so that she has lost her
pristine beauty and now shows a leprous countenance.

Catherine shudders when she considers the corruption of the
Church, and when she sees the depravity of the priests she trembles
with indignation. Christ has been betrayed, nature has been per¬
verted; purification by fire is needed, reform ah imo. She examines
the Church’s sores and diagnoses them mercilessly. There is
something of Michelangelo’s sublime wrath in her gesture of
condemnation. It is true that in her pages it is God Himself who
is speaking, and therefore strictness and severity are de rigueur \ but
in this Dialogue it is her own thought that God is approving: His
verdict is hers. There is no other way: either the whole extent
of the evil must be shown, to be cured, or the Church will perish.

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301

But the Church cannot perish: therefore its salvation must be
sought; its ministers, mostly corrupt and wicked, must be con¬
verted. God wills this, she wills it. One way is to intercede in
prayer for them and for all men: she must suffer and pray. Her
anguish is for their salvation, and must in the end persuade God.
Has He not promised the renewal of His Church? His voice has
been heard: ‘Take then your tears and sweat and bring them to
the fountain of My divine charity, you and My other servants;
and with these cleanse the face of My Bride, for I have promised
you that by this means her beauty shall be restored’.

The terrible judge has become a victim, longing for the sacri¬
fice. She feels upon herself the entire responsibility of the Church,
whose salvation will depend on her own efforts. No one else
must judge or condemn. The priests, even if wicked and corrupt,
are sacred because they belong to the Church. Only Christ and
His Vicar on earth may punish them. They are the workers in the
Christian vineyard, and depend on the supreme eternal Worker;
if they do not work, or if they spoil the vines, God alone can
punish them. The Church is the earthly image of life in Heaven,
and He who reigns in Heaven rules the Church. The Church must
spread continually until it has gathered together the whole world:
in this way the unity and continuity of the world of men would
be united to the divine world. Has Christ not made of Himself a
Bridge between earth and Heaven, so that men may share in both
worlds ?

But the reality is far otherwise; men seek to gratify their senses
and care nought for perfection. Beneath this Bridge flows a
rushing river, and the great majority of men have preferred and
still prefer to go down into the river and trust themselves to that
fickle stream. ‘The water knows no pause, everyone is drowned
that enters it.’ The Bridge rises like an apocalyptic vision; our
imagination secs it soar liighcr and ever higher till it is lost in the
infinite, then bend down to reach the earth again, like a great
celestial Way, coloured grey and russet; it is solid and yet aerial,
it has the constancy and the vibrations of the stars. It arouses
wonder and trembling fear; it is the Bridge thrown across the
abyss by God, for the salvation of men. Its stones are the virtues,
cemented with the Blood of Christ. There is nothing dangerous
or treacherous about it: ‘for all the faithful may cross it easily,

302 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

and without any servile fear’. We contemplate it in awe; over it
pass a few wayfarers, glowing in azure light; beneath it swarms
the crowd, lost in the grey, tossing river waves.

All those who aim at a certain degree of perfection cross over
the Bridge, which leads to a door and ends with three enormous
steps. Christ awaits them there; Catherine’s image of Him is of
extraordinary grandeur, far larger than those gigantic Byzantine
Christs which, in the apses of some churches, fascinate us so much
that once we have seen them we cannot detach our gaze from
those faces or those eyes. The three steps lead to the feet of Christ,
then to His side, then to His mouth: this last step must be climbed
by whoever would arrive at ‘great perfection’.

Real knowledge begins at the feet of Christ. This is religious
and mystical—not philosophical knowledge. Catherine’s God is
the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob—not the God of Aristotle
or of St Thomas Aquinas. When Pere Deman writes that she
‘is moved and thrilled by those conceptions that other minds can
hold with indifference’, he is right if by conceptions he means the
truths of faith that she learns in God. To her might be applied St
Anselm’s ‘credo ut ititelligam in its strictest sense. She attaches
importance to the intellect, not because it is itself capable of dis¬
covering truths, but because it can, to a certain extent, understand
the Christian faith as accepted by the soul. Truth dwells in God,
not in the human brain, and man is allowed to raise his mind to
God to know in Him what he has already himself begun to
believe through revelation. ‘She encourages us to acquire know¬
ledge’, certainly, but one must beware of confusing her know¬
ledge, which is mystical, with that of a closely reasoning theo¬
logian. She accepts the teaching of Christ and believes that the
love of virtue and the hatred of vice will lead us to the ‘house of
self-knowledge’, and that prayer raises us ‘so that the intellect may
receive the light’. This is true knowledge, Catherine tells us, but
is it not perhaps a divine illumination granted to our intellect?
There are no syllogisms here, no logical and strict deductions.
God gives us knowledge of the truth, and according to this we
must regulate our conduct in this life. It is always faith that is
supreme; we are far from philosophical reasoning, far even from
the intellectual world of the theologian. Catherine agrees with
the theologian in her principles, which are after all common to

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303

the whole Christian world—she is opposed to him both in method
and in her general conception. Pere Deman draws a clever portrait
of Catherine as an eager thinker and reasoner, but when we study
her writings it is her love and fervour that strike us most and her
salient characteristic is her tireless spiritual creativeness. Her
thought is certainly active and lively, but it serves to clothe the
warm throb of her religious feelings, or is the expression of her
mystical experiences judged with a calm mind. For her, know¬
ledge is the experience of the divine, from which we deduce that
perfection gives birth to knowledge, which in its turn inspires and
produces perfection, which has no limit in this earthly life. ‘There
is no one in this life, however perfect he may be, who may not
grow to greater perfection.’ It is not enough to accept the Blood
of Christ as the means of purification, and to acquire virtues and
experience love; it is necessary for the soul to be endlessly striving
to spiritualise itself and at every moment to try to burst out of the
limits of this earthly life. Union with God, when it is achieved, is
by progressive degrees, so that an earlier degree of grace is con¬
sidered an imperfection when compared with that which is to
follow, and growing grace finds all previous degrees insufficient.
In its God-ward flight the soul must not loosen the bonds that
hold it to its neighbour; it must bind them closer and stronger.
The straining of the soul after God refreshes the faculties and leads
to a still more loving union with all mankind. Prayer, which is the
inner impulse of the soul, seeks to maintain contact with both
extremes: Man and God. Therefore real prayer is not a piling of
words upon words, and although vocal prayer also is necessary,
it is not sufficient in itself to comprehend the whole world of man
and God. For this is needed that holy desire which is continual
prayer: that is, mental prayer.

To rise above oneself and commune with the divine—even
this is not yet full perfection. There are joys produced by almost
sensible proofs of a world beyond; there are spiritual consolations
that fill the soul, there are celestial visions that bring their own
bliss. Even these, however, do not bring about the state of
intimate union with God; it is a lofty and most dangerous
state, because in it the soul may easily love God, not for Himself,
but for the joys that come from this union, that is, love God for
its own sake. ‘It happens as to that man who works in a garden,

304 my servant Catherine

and as he delights in this garden he rests from his work there. He
thinks he is just resting from his work, but he is really resting in
the joy that the garden gives him/ Real union, instead, is often
barren of delights, and sets up such a delicate balance of joy and
sorrow that both become indifferent to the soul; when a man
reaches this perfection ‘he holds all things in equal reverence,
the left hand as mucli as the right, tribulation as much as consola¬
tion, hunger and thirst as much as eating and drinking, cold and
heat and nakedness as much as clothing, life as much as death,
honour as much as dishonour, and affliction as much as recreation.
In all things he is solid, firm and immovable, because he is founded
on the living rock/ So, having overcome the desire for earthly
goods and events, the soul finds satisfaction and joy everywhere:
‘It enjoys all things and finds in all the fragrance of the rose’.
Hence the imperative command: ‘Rejoice even in tribulation’.
This state is reached by transcending the senses, not by destroying
them; the soul acquires a more intense sensibility which is shown
on a higher level; ‘where the soul feels both bliss and pain; bliss
because of the union with Me and the joy of divine love; pain
because of the injury it sees done to Me’. Thenceforth the trem¬
bling soul will be living in Christ: ‘Dwelling in Him you will
follow His teaching; following His teaching you will share in the
substance of this Word, that is, you will share in the eternal
Deity united to humanity, drawing from this union a divine love
that will intoxicate the soul’.

But still greater heights may be reached: ‘the souls arrive at the
door, raising their mind to Him, bathed and inebriated with the
Blood, burnt with the fire of love; they enjoy in Me the eternal
Deity which is for them like a peaceful sea, where the soul finds
such union with Me that the mind can make no movement save
in Me’. Here occurs that mystical phenomenon which the
writers of tracts call the ‘ legamento \ ‘When all those powers
(intellect, memory, affection) are gathered and joined together,
and the body, immersed and drowned in Me, loses all feeling . . .
all the limbs are bound and held by the bond and feeling of love*.
In this way love takes possession, invades, holds, enflames and
consumes the soul, so as to reduce it to a flaming brand ‘all burnt
in the furnace’.

Nearly all gross material has been burnt away; nevertheless, an

THE BOOK 305

eternal contrast remains between the soul and body, and the
>oul can still control bodily phenomena: ‘When she felt her soul
renewed in the eternal Deity, the holy fire of love within her
darned so hot that she sweated water because of the straining of the
>oul against the body . . . she scorned this because she desired to
>ee her body sweat blood instead\ For blood had the power
:o ransom, and brought her nearer to the sacrifice of Christ, and
ay sharing in this sacrifice she would play a more active part in
:he salvation of men: ‘And therefore I want you now to seek a
remedy by sweating blood’. Thus God replies to her when in her
distress she accuses herself of being the cause of all the evil in the
Church and in the world. But there comes a moment when the
>oul loses this control over the body. It becomes etherealised,
frees itself from all that would weigh it down, rises above the
aody, as light as air; no force now can hold it back. The ecstasy
Dccomes more intense; God, like a fiery breath, draws out to
Timself the innermost soul; there is a violent shock of sever-
ince, and the soul becomes still more enflamed with love.
Nevertheless it is still able to remember the body, and can glance
it it.and see that ‘it lies motionless, overcome by the power of the
ipirit’.

The soul now takes wing and soars to the divine, and enters an
itmosphere of flame, so remote from life on earth that it sees it
low but dimly, as in a dream, faint and far away. Reality is now
Tillncss of ardour and joy, and the almost invisible thread that
till binds soul and body is forgotten. The soul contemplates
lew worlds and is never weary of contemplation; it wants to
draw ever nearer to God. Although it does not see the life beyond
is clearly as it will see it after death, yet it experiences as it were
:he beginning of deification, because true servants of God ‘arrive
it My eternal vision, where they see and enjoy Me in truth, the
oul separated from the body, as I told you when I spoke of the
diss the soul received in Me. This is that excellent state that the
;oul, while still mortal, enjoys with the immortals. Hence it
)ften happens that it arrives at such a union that it does not know
vhether it is in the body or out of the body, and enjoys this
r oretaste of eternal life, because of its union with Me, and also
because its own will is dead. It was because its own will was
lead that it was able to reach union with Me—for otherwise it

30 6 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

could not have had perfect union. Now such souls enjoy eternal
life, saved from the hell of their own will, which gives a fore¬
taste of hell to those who live according to their own fleshly
lusts, as I have told you.’

It would seem that the height of bliss to be enjoyed on earth
has been attained; but this is not true, because the soul proceeds
in its self-deification and no end can be assigned to this process.
The divine light becomes ever clearer to the eye of the mystic,
and the heat is ever more intense. Such an infinite perfectibility is
almost inconceivable for us, and so we feel the need to set pauses
or definite limits, but the mystic who wants to achieve the
closest possible union with God considers all in terms of the
infinite; he knows he can never pause, and his thirst after perfection
does not allow him a moment’s rest. The dynamic of mysticism
consists in this incessant concentration of power for continual
progression, and the effort to arrive at an ever greater deification
produces drama in die soul. In fact, those who think to find only
milk and honey in the writings of mystics, and hopefully seek in
their words an all-accommodating optimism, are disappointed.
The reader often experiences dismay or disillusionment in his study
of mysticism; where he has hoped to find heavens of azure and
rose he finds instead dramatic and tragic conflicts of the soul;
instead of resting in cheerful flowery gardens he finds himself
among barren rocky mountains. The mystical state is austere, and
often hard and harsh. There are no doubt moments of sweetness,
but even these are the result of vigorous action or of suffering
endured. Catherine says very truly: ‘Who loves much suffers
much; as love increases, so does suffering’—a suffering that gives
birth to happiness and joy. The synthesis of mysticism is composed
of the thesis and antithesis: love and pain.

In his pursuit of the infinite the mystic annihilates himself to
what seems an almost impossible extent, and as the infinite he
pursues is an ideal that eternally recedes, the soul is granted
neither absolute rest nor lasting peace. There are continual new
births of spiritual longing, which keep the soul in continual
movement, and produce at times an overflowing sense of satis¬
faction and joy, and at other times lesions of dramatic suddenness.
These dramas are due to the infinite quality of divine love, whose
inexhaustible wealth produces ever more abundance and whose

THE BOOK

307

power inflicts suffering that is full of bliss. Ecstasy is not the
achievement of a single state of mind, nor can it be concentrated
in a single word; it is rather a complex of states of mind, some of
which merge together, while others conflict with one another.

Giacomo Devoto has made a careful study of Catherine’s
ecstasies from her own references in her letters, and has tried,
with much scholarly acumen, to isolate the specific phenomenon
by analysing her linguistic expression—arriving at the con¬
clusion that ecstasy ‘centres in one essential word that holds in
itself, alone, all the irradiating power of contemplative action.
Around this word all her concrete affirmations are gathered in
ordered subordinate ranks, insistent like echoes. The rhythm of
her phrase adapts itself to this word, and becomes more and more
excited till it reaches or barely touches the climax—then inter¬
rupts itself in a sudden awakening, or returns gradually to its
normal tranquil pace.’

Linguistic study applied to ecstasy can give nothing more, but
does not succeed in setting forth its real greatness. When carefully
considered, ecstasy presents a complexity whose essence eludes a
purely philological analysis. As Devoto characterises it, it is a
supreme effort of the soul, which on reaching its highest point of
tension, finds its true expression in one sovereign word. This
description is not true of ecstasy alone, for it could be applied to
all the affections when they are expressed with fervent emotion;
in fact, in all the phrases that man utters or writes there is always a
central, synthetic or dominating word—around which are
grouped the concrete affirmations that pay it court. Ecstasy also
may have this character, but this is not what constitutes an
ecstasy. The mystic only shares in this common experience in so
far as he seeks to express in language common to all what he has
felt during ecstasy, and so, up to a certain point, the process of
expression is the same for mystics as for non-mystics, where these
are in a state of profound emotion. But in the phrases of mystics
we find peculiar vibrations which impress on them a special and
singular character. In these vibrations lies the secret power of
mystical expression.

Giacomo Devoto, continuing with strict method his deduc¬
tions, points out that one essential word characterises ecstatic
expression, just as essential words are uttered also in love, and at

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

308

the approach of death; therefore there must be two ecstasies
parallel to the religious ecstasy, and so, at least philologically
speaking, the states of the mystic, the lover and the dying man
may be considered as on the same plane. But this is to detract
from the religious ecstasy. When we compare the power and the
results of religious ecstasy with those of the other ecstasies
asserted by Dcvoto, the differences are not only quantitative but
substantial. Devoto himself, who in the development of his
theory has felt some qualms about the parallelism he has suggested,
affirms that ‘here we are concerned always with ecstasy as expressed
within the limits and laws of a concrete language’, but as this
method does not bring out the fullness and supremacy of the
religious ecstasy we may conclude that linguistic studies are as
insufficient to determine it as anatomical studies are insufficient
to determine the life of living beings. So, if we wish to find the
whole meaning of ecstasy, we must have recourse to other
methods.

It is apparent that in ecstasy a vital current is produced that
takes possession of the soul, empowers it, thrills and moves it;
a current that does not flow into a single word, but endows
entire phrases with equal fervour and power. It is uncircum-
scribable, indeterminable, and gives spiritual life to all who
yield to it:. Ecstasy produces states of mind both abysmal and
celestial, inspiring timorous awe and all-conquering audacity;
bliss is mingled with pain, wild joy with humble prostration.
The most varied states follow one another, mingle, develop or
overtake one another without a pause; in the midst of tumult
comes serenity, and in a serene moment the outburst of the
storm. There are no lines of demarcation—only loose, flowing,
irregular contours, often concentric circles in continual expansion.
No single point marks a pause, but there arc various floating
points of reference in the endless upward surge. The degrees of
intensity reached are expressed in intense and manifold shades of
colour, never to be described with a single word. Hence the
mystics’ use and abuse of contraries, with infinitely varied
gradations: light-darkness, health-sickness, love-hate, weeping-
laughter, perfection-baseness, Paradise-Hell, grace-damnation,
pride-humility and other extremes that rule the mind like two
fiery principles, impossible to define in one term.

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309

It is true that the soul of the mystic tries to free itself from
multiplicity to achieve unity, but it is an infinite and therefore
continually creative unity. It is true also that at a given moment
during the ascesi the mystic utters a single essential word, the
supreme achievement of his soul: God. But if materially God
can be expressed in a single word, spiritually He holds concen¬
trated in Himself a multiplicity of meanings: activity without
rest, peerless light, ineffable might, and the idea of concrete
worlds and an infinite number of other possible worlds. God
means life, present, past and future; substantial unity implying
innumerable diversities; the Trinity in operation; vision without
end. In truth, God is the only word that can be called essential to
the mystic, the only word that includes within itself alone all the
irradiating power of contemplative action; when the mystic
utters this word the whole world opens before the eye of his
soul, and he feels as if he were soaring into a spiritual infinitude
‘which words cannot describe’. God is a single word, but it
contains in itself, and surpasses, all other words. In contact with
the Triune God the creature feels one need only: to lose himself
in the Divinity, to find himself again therein. ‘A deep sea art
Thou, Eternal Trinity! The more I search Thee the more I find,
and the more I find Thee the more do I seek Thee. Infinite art
Thou, for the soul that drinks of Thy waters is ever athirst, ever
hungry for Thee, thirsting for Thee, O Eternal Trinity, ever
longing to see Thee in the light, by Thy light.’

In ecstasy knowledge remains alert to observe the deification of
the soul, and would wish this deification to increase for ever,
knowing that it may never be complete. The spirit becomes
almost disassociated from the flesh, and yearns for absolute
freedom; nevertheless, the body still weighs upon it. ‘O Eternal
Trinity, fire and fountain of love, dissolve me this cloud of flesh!’
To become pure spirit means uniting oneself with God. This
union is truly an attachment—not the annulment of knowledge,
nor the dissolving of the soul in God—because the creature,
however lofty its flight, never exhausts the divine within himself,
nor can become merged with it; hence the mystic’s constant and
insatiable longing, which produces mingled joy and pain. The
soul continues to drink deep of the divine life at every moment,
and tliis fills it with joy, but all the time it knows itself a poor

310 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

suppliant for grace. ‘Thou, Eternal Trinity, art the Maker, and I

am the work of Thy Hands/ Here we are at the impassable

barrier, yet it is drawn so faintly as almost to disappear when a

great wave of God’s love breaks in overwhelming streams over

the creature’s head: ‘Thou art in love with the beauty of Thy

creature’.

The power of God’s light now exalts and enraptures the soul;
all becomes light to it, all is like a transparent sea: ‘Thou lightest
all’. ‘Truly Thy light is a sea, because the soul is nourished in
Thee. Thou art a peaceful sea, O Eternal Trinity! The water is
not muddy, and therefore the soul has no fear, because it sees
the truth; the water is clear, so that in it all hidden things are
seen ... it is a mirror wherein Thou, Eternal Trinity, grantest to
me to know myself, for when I look into this mirror, holding it
in the hand of love, it shows me myself in Thee, for I am Thy
creature, and Thee in me, because of the union Thou madest of
the Deity with our humanity.’

She is enraptured with wonder, and her being is poured forth
in praise; all contrasts fade, antitheses vanish; only sweetness
reigns, and the sweetness is God. ‘O Trinity, Thou art all sweet¬
ness; there is no bitterness in Thee.’ What can the soul do now
but languish of love in the sea of sweetness, and, feeling its own
life flow out into its Lover’s being, become a part of love, and
light within the Light?

All the soul’s desire seems fulfilled. Yet the climax is still far
away, and will ever be so. The light that seemed to have reached
its greatest splendour grows in intensit and irradiates new light in
new heavens. The soul’s gaze clings to it. Prayer becomes a thing
of fire. Once more the soul gathers its strength; again it over¬
comes the self. It yearns to be filled with even greater out¬
pourings of divine power. There seem to be no barriers left.
The blissful soul soars aloft. But now, when it believes it has
reached the Ineffable a shadow falls across it and it trembles. The
barriers are still there across its path. Mortals are we, and after
having tasted for a moment of the life of the immortals we must
needs re-enter our mortal flesh. Cold and darkness return. The
treasure we had found seems lost. A moment of discouragement,
almost of bewilderment—then the soul takes courage and soars
again. The body is still stiff; at the soul’s touch it trembles, as if it

Dulcet i gnu m chantatis
DumamSRr ctffitatis,
ATorrnutat in Viiviae..

C& Q' /)

St Catherine. Codex Casanatense 292 , Rome, XVth century

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311

could no longer endure die bursdng life of the spirit, but little
by little the memory of what the soul has seen returns and is so
vivid and full ofjoy that there breaks out a cry of faith: ‘Robe me,
robe me with Thyself, Eternal Trinity, that I may pass through
this mortal life in true obedience, and in the light of the most
holy faith, for my soul seems ever athirst for that light*.

Chapter XI

CATHERINE IN ROME

With the completion of Catherine’s book, her greatest spiritual
work was now achieved; her mission on earth was nearly at an
end. The return of Gregory XI to Rome had represented her
maximum effort of co-operation in the important historical events
of her time. In dictating the last words of her book, the invoca¬
tion to the Trinity, she completed the legacy of her rich spiri¬
tual life, and established for all times her significance as a mystic.
She was to live for about a year and a half longer, her activity
was still to be assiduous and astounding, she was to write affecting
wonderful letters, to urge the Pope, the Cardinals, prelates, and
monks, friars and statesmen to defend the Church and purify it;
but all this work, however admirable, was to show no markedly
original character such as would increase her greatness in our
eyes.

She still threw herself into the struggle and longed for the
triumph of Urban’s cause; but she was distressed at the realisation
of her own powerlcssness, and watched with a breaking heart the
non-fulfilment of her desires. She had moments of joy, and after
the battle of Marino it seemed for a fleeting moment as if her
dreams were to be realised. Too soon -the gloom returned and
perturbing visions caused her great distress. She had always loved
men, and still loved them; she wanted them to be good and
happy, she believed in their salvation, but when she saw them at
work she felt disillusionment and horror. Men find it easier to
sink to the level of beasts than to rise God-ward. She knew this
and grieved over it. During her trances and visions the earth
seemed to be transformed into Paradise, and she saw the human
and the divine merged in perfect harmony; but as soon as she
looked around her she saw the Church contaminated by sin and

312

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313

torn asunder by strife within. It was as if the earth were doomed
to become the realm of disorder, with the spirit of evil triumphant
over it.

Everyday life is far from ideal, and Catherine’s senses told her
this; but the ideal is greater than life, and therefore she would not
renounce it. She preserved the purity of her ideal by immersing
herself more and more in prayer. She loved men and believed in
their salvation. If experience disillusioned her, no matter; she
must rise above sordid reality; if the conduct of men often
saddened her, the ideal still gleamed and sang in her soul. The
wickedness of the world cannot be eliminated; but the ideal is a
superior reality, a sublimated reality, as it were, and Catherine,
the prophet of the ideal, soaring in spirit to the azure heavens,
was trying to drag all humanity behind her. She did not succeed.
But who ever did? Who ever will? Nevertheless it must be
attempted, and with all one’s might. In the measure of the effort
made is seen the measure of the soul, and by this straining after
the ideal there is established an indispensable continuity between
the lower world and the higher. Catherine lived to spiritualise
herself and all mankind; she wanted to raise to the ideal level that
heavy and dull reality which is the sad heritage of the earth, and
which sometimes caused her such agitation, fear and distress.
Even when her body was tormented she felt her soul filled with
surpassing sweetness, and becoming light and transparent like a
divine spirit: foris cruciatibus humanitatis , intus triumphis divinitatis.
So the earthly was merged with the heavenly and until shortly
before her death Catherine always felt herself an integrating part
of the humanity she loved and wished to save. When she realised
how little she could do for men she invoked for them a baptism
of Blood, the Blood of Christ that purifies all men and binds
them together as brothers. Only a few moments before her death
did she finally cease from every desire and invocation for men, and
turn to God alone, with a long sigh of surrender and with
unspeakable joy.

She arrived in Rome on November 28th, 1378. Twelve
days previously Charles V, King of France, had declared for the
anti-Pope, and eight days previously Giovamia, Queen of Naples,
had officially taken the same step; the next day the Emperor
Charles IV died in Prague, and in Rome Urban VI issued a new

v

314 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

Bull, condemning Clement and various schismatic Cardinals and
prelates. Catherine arrived in the Eternal City accompanied by
some of her fellow Tertiaries and many disciples. She was glad to
be there. Her arrival in Rome was in fulfilment of her last
desire, insistently expressed to the Pope in the letters she had
written to him on September 18th and October 5th, from
which we have already quoted. Hers was an official visit because
this time she had insisted on Fra Raimondo’s procuring from
Urban VI a written command, so as not to scandalise the Tertiaries
of Siena and those of her fellow citizens who accused her of being
a ‘gadabout’.

In Rome she immediately sought and obtained an interview
with the Pope. Nothing is known of their conversation—Lando di
Francesco, writing on November 30th, 1378, to the Lords
Defenders of the People and City of Siena, informs us that
‘Messer the Pope saw and heard her very willingly. What she
asked of him we do not know, but we know that he was glad to
see her.’ Probably Urban VI was glad to find in her a staunch
supporter of his legitimate claim.

★ ★ ★

It was a very critical moment for the Pope. Rome was for the
most part faithful to him, likewise Florence and Tuscany, with
Perugia and other cities of central Italy; but the Queen of Naples
and the King of France had abandoned him. Urban’s chief
problem at that moment must have been to think of some way to
win back the confidence, loyalty and support of these two rulers.
Possibly, while Catherine was speaking to him, he was planning
to send her on a mission to Giovanna of Naples. He knew that the
people of Naples were for him; in the summer of 1378 the popu¬
lace had assaulted the Bishop of Mural, who had preached
against Urban. But the popular rising had had no influence over
the Queen’s decisions, and therefore it was necessary to find
some means of persuading her to abandon the schismatic cause.
No one could do this better than Catherine, who had been in
correspondence with Giovanna and was a most persuasive orator,
who had shown exceptional activity in Florence in the Papal
cause, and with her undoubted holiness would be of great help

CATHERINE IN ROME 315

to Domenico d’Afragola, the principal preacher in Neapolitan
territory of the Crusade against the anti-Pope. Hence the Pope’s
plan to send Catherine to Naples, in the company of Catherine of
Sweden, also famous for her own sanctity and as the daughter of
the saintly Brigid. This plan was communicated to Fra Raimondo
da Capua, who informed the two Catherines. Both Catherine of
Sweden and Fra Raimondo were averse to the project, the
former most decidedly, the latter more timidly. When Fra
Raimondo explained to Urban the uselessness and dangerous
nature of this mission* the Pope understood and gave up the idea.
This renunciation was a disappointment to Catherine of Siena,
who had for long cherished a hope of going to Naples to speak
with Queen Giovanna, and who was always ready to undertake
for Christ’s sake difficult missions involving the risk of death and
requiring boundless faith for their accomplishment. She thought
it was cowardly to give up this plan and protested with some
violence—an attitude which her confessor and friend admired,
although he carefully forebore to bring the plan up again for
further discussion.

At that time the Pope and Fra Raimondo were beginning to be
seriously perturbed by the trend of events in France, and especially
by the attitude assumed in favour of Clement VII by the King,
Charles V. No precise or official news had yet been received in
Rome, but it was known that the King had received the two
Papal Ambassadors, Niccola di San Saturnino, a Dominican and
Master of the Sacred Palaces, and Arnaldo, Bishop of Famagusta.
He had received them on the nth or 12th of September in Paris,
in the Palais de la Cite, and allowed them to plead the cause of the
Schismatics before six Archbishops, thirty bishops, many Abbots,
Prelates and Doctors of Law and Theology. This was clearly a
grave matter for the Roman Papacy and on the 21st of November
Ambassadors were sent to the King of France to try to avert the
danger that the King might help the Schismatics or become one
himself.

It is not our task here to outline the history of the relations
between France and the Schismatics. It has been presented with a
wealth of documents, a lively historical sense, clarity, fairness
and breadth of view by Noel Valois. Some details of Fra Rai-
mondo’s mission have been set in a new light, and very astutely,

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316

by Perc Laurent. What matters for our story is to understand how
events in France were judged in Rome at the time of Catherine’s
arrival there.

Urban VI had no political intuition and knew little or nothing
of men. If he had been a shrewder observer he would have realised
that the agreement reached between the Limousin and French
Cardinals was sure to result in intense propaganda for their cause
in France and he would necessarily have adopted some useful
counter-measures. Perhaps Urban counted on the loyalty of the
French people and the various Universities of France—but this
was a misplaced trust, because although popular opinion was at
first in Urbsn’s favour it could easily be deflected, by a shrewd
king, towards a belief in the legitimacy of Clement VII, and this
in fact came to pass. It is true that already in June, two Ambassadors
from Urban, Cicco Tortello and Pietro di Murles, had gone to
Charles V to inform him of the validity of the election of Bartolo¬
meo Prignano, and it is also true that in Paris on the 16th of
June 1378 they had defended his legitimacy publicly in the King’s
presence; but, unknown to the Pope, Pietro di Murles was a
secret agent of the schismatic Cardinals, and in a private audience
with Charles V he had denied what he had asserted in public.

When he had sent new ambassadors to Charles V, the Pope
turned his attention to French affairs, perhaps because the struggle
he was engaged in, first with the Cardinals and then against the
anti-Pope, absorbed nearly the whole of his activity.

Modem historians are inclined to think that Urban’s diplomacy,
as shown in bis dealings with France and the King of France, was
short-sighted and weak, because he had no well-thought-out
plans to put at once into action. Pastor attributes to him the vast
design of wishing to free the Papacy from French influence, but
here the great historian is surely prejudiced by his own wish, and
has ignored the message Urban VI sent to Charles V: ‘Although I
am an Italian, yet I have always been, and I am now, by choice,
a Frenchman. I want to satisfy the King in all matters concerning
him, his honour and his advantage, more than any preceding
Popes, though Frenchman themselves, have done. I will do
much more, with great generosity and without seeking a reward.’

In politics Urban had no genius for taking the initiative, and
preferred to counter-attack rather than to attack. The few

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317

successes he enjoyed during his Papacy were due not to his own
carefully constructed plans but to the conditions which regulated
the balance of power in Europe, and which various sovereigns
were concerned with. He acted energetically in certain cases, but
without being able to secure any advantages for the Papacy or for
Italy. He succeeded in overcoming some of his most powerful
and dangerous enemies, but in such a way that the leaders
responsible for these successes soon became even more dangerous
enemies of his. Having no breadth of political vision, events often
took him by surprise and dictated his course of action. Although
he was courageous in adversity he had no skill in bending the will
of others to his own. He could mould neither States nor events
nor men; and his desire for world domination led him in the end to
a dreary solitude.

He must have felt indignant surprise when he heard that the
representatives of the Cardinals had been ceremoniously received
by the King. He immediately nominated two Ambassadors to go
to Charles V bearing such instructions as might serve to dissuade
him from schism. This time his Ambassadors were well chosen
for their loyalty to him: Giacomo Ceva, Marshal of the Curia,
and Fra Raimondo da Capua. When Catherine arrived in Rome
the mission of her confessor and friend had already been decided
upon; nevertheless Fra Raimondo was perplexed. He was
always ready to do his duty when his life was not thereby im¬
perilled, but he had a presentiment this time that his new task
might be a very dangerous one. Certainly he would have pre¬
ferred to remain simply the chief preacher of the Crusade against
the Schismatics; he had been given this position on the 8th of
November of that year. But he could hardly refuse this new
honour, however dangerous. Urban, as Pope and as his friend,
counted on him; moreover, it was a grave crisis for the Church;
the political power of the Papacy was at stake; he could hardly
refuse a mission that might prove to be of the greatest service to
the Church. He knew that, come what might, he must strive
to do his duty and set out for France, but he could not shake off a
lively fear of the Corsair galleys, in the pay of the Schismatics,
who were lying in wait at the mouth of the Tiber and along the
Tyrrhenian coast. He had to go by sea, because on land all the
passes and roads were carefully guarded by hostile militia, and it

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318

would have been folly to try to slip through. Before departing
he wished to speak with his friend Catherine who, with her
wonderful insight, might foretell the course of events.

As soon as he had a chance to speak to her at some length he
eagerly opened his heart to her, certain diat she would counsel
him according to God’s will, but with a faint unconfessed hope
that she might disapprove of his departure. Instead, although she
grieved to lose her friend again so soon, she rejoiced to hear of
Fra Raimondo’s new mission, and not only persuaded him to
obey the Pope but, affirming that Urban VI was the legitimate
Pope, added: ‘I want you to set yourself to preach and defend this
truth, for it is your duty to do this for the truth of the Christian
faith’.

It was a command that could not be questioned: a command
that thrilled and fortified Fra Raimondo’s soul; but it must be
admitted that, in spite of this encouragement, he still felt some
qualms of fear; in his heart he would have preferred to hear
Catherine tell him to stay peacefully in Rome, as we see clearly
from his account many years later, when the worthy Dominican
still remembered the sadness that had fallen upon his soul: ‘I did
as she said, and bent my neck to the yoke of obedience’.

Perhaps it was with the intention to help her friend, inex¬
perienced as an Ambassador, that Catherine gave him a letter for
Charles V. About two years before she had written to the King
at the Duke of Anjou’s request, to beg him to desist from waging
war against the English, so as to be free to lead a great Crusade
against the infidels. Probably Catherine did not know that her
letter had never reached him, and thought he still must remember
her. In any case, she considered it was her duty now to defend the
Church, and so it was necessary in these circumstances to warn
the King of the French not to fall into the snares of self-love and
of those incarnate devils, Clement VII and all the schismatic
Cardinals. So she wrote to him, urging him to reject ‘the advice
of those who live in darkness’ and not to give credence to the
false accounts in circulation about the election of Urban VI.
If, she said, after having read this letter, he still remained sincerely
in doubt and did not wish to compromise himself by giving due
obedience to Urban, he should at least remain neutral: ‘If you do
not want to do good, at least do not do evil’. And why had he not

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319

appealed to God’s faithful servants, who alone could enlighten
him, to learn how the Conclave had been conducted? In writing
this she probably thought of her own saintly friends, who might
have given him good information and advice; it may be that she
would willingly have gone herself to speak with the King, to
convince him of Urban’s legitimacy. In any case, for the moment,
he could ask for information from the University of Paris: ‘You
have the fountain of knowledge there close to you’, she wrote.
Had she known that, while she was writing, most of the Doctors
of that University had already decided for the Schismatics, she
would probably have indignantly referred to that famous seat of
learning as a ‘fountain of all iniquity’.

There is very little in this letter that the Clementines could not
easily have refuted. It is full of intense religious feeling, but,
politically speaking, the arguments brought forward are weak.
It is not one of Catherine’s best effusions. It contains repetitions
of thought already, and perhaps better, expressed in preceding
letters. She makes no careful study of the events that have
occurred, or of the causes underlying these events, and she
reports as certain truth the most unreliable rumours that were
then current in Rome. In fact Catherine knows very little about
what has happened, and although she writes with great sincerity
and a certain vigour of style her arguments seem very ineffective.
One wonders, also, why she did not write to the Duke, Louis of
Anjou, who had shown such a liking for her in Avignon.

Meanwhile, Fra Raimondo had to set out on his mission.
Catherine accompanied him as far as his port of embarkation.
She was anxious to be near him, for she had some doubts about
the energy and courage of her beloved master and disciple. When
he went on board the galley at Ostia, and she saw the mooring
ropes cast off, she gazed at him with eyes full of tears. As the
ship began to sail away she knelt on the quay and made the sign
of the Cross with her upraised hand, in the direction towards
which the ship was moving, thus invoking for him God’s help
in his struggle against the elements and the perverse will of men.

It is natural for the Christian to desire the Church to be guided
by saintly counsels, as it is also natural, in times of corrupt
morality, to wish to replace a sinful clergy with priests who lead
blameless lives. These were Catherine’s desires. During her

320 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

stay in Rome her chief aim was the reform of the Church. She
saw it corrupt and disunited, but she believed that its wounds
could be healed and its unity restored. She was sure God would
give His aid in the work of reformation, and therefore it was
necessary for His servants to labour with the utmost zeal and
trust in Him. While she visited the Churches of Rome her soul
was thrilled by continual reminders of the blood of the martyrs,
and she was sure that that blood would still have the power to
heal the Church. The Pope agreed with her that a radical reform
was needed—in fact, this was the point on which they found
themselves most closely in agreement, and it was this considera¬
tion that enabled her to pass lightly over his grave defects of
character, so that although she knew his violent and autocratic
nature had alienated even his own collaborators, yet she loved
him tenderly. He had understood the importance of her own
plan—to form a Papal Council of saints, mystics and ascetics, and
from this beginning to set out to reform the Church.

In the letter she sent to Fra Raimondo at Pisa, soon after his
departure from Rome, written to encourage him to persevere
in his mission to France, we find a succinct reflection of Catherine’s
thoughts on Church reform: ‘We see this Bride all dismembered.
But I hope that in His supreme and eternal goodness God will
make her members whole once more, of sweet odour and not
putrid, and that these members will be re-fashioned on the
bowed shoulders of God’s faithful servants, lovers of truth, by
their many labours, sweats and tears, and humble and continual
prayers. And in our labours we shall find refreshment, rejoicing
in the reformation of this sweet Bride.’

According to Catherine only the Saints, the ascetics and the
mystics could thoroughly reform the Church. It never occurred
to her that these men, humble, pure, and powerful in the realm
of the spirit, might prove to be mediocre or incapable adminis¬
trators of earthly affairs. She did not distinguish between the
religious and the political Church, because she judged politics
solely as an expression of faith, and would willingly have re¬
nounced all temporal power if she had thought it was in any way
harmful to the power of the spirit. As there had to be a Papal
State she thought of it as a vast religious community, in which
human passions should have no power to hurt, and all men

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321

should love each other like brothers, with their thoughts fixed on
God. It seems hardly credible that she thought such a State
could be set up on earth, within a given period of time. She may
not have hoped for its establishment during her life, but she
certainly thought it would come about through the rule of the
servants of God. If the Church had holy men to guide it she
believed it would become holy—and from this to the setting up
of the Kingdom of God on earth was but a short step.

With this idea clear in her mind, she insisted that Urban should
surround himself with pious and devout men, and more particu¬
larly with those hermits, monks and friars whom she herself
knew and whose holiness she revered. During December 1378
she often saw the Pope: ‘Catherine ofMonna Lapa is here, and the
Holy Father has spoken to her many times, and sent for her many
times’, the Sienese Ambassador, Lando di Francesco, wrote on
December 27th, 1378, and added that she obtained from the
Pope whatever she desired. Urban, who was after all very pious,
came under Catherine’s spell, and, at least for a short time, seems
to have shared her belief that the schism could be overcome by
spiritual weapons alone, and therefore at this time he willingly
listened to her and granted her requests. Her logic in speech or
writing, considered from a strictly Christian standpoint, seemed
to him invincible. So he approved of her plan of gathering her
friends together in Rome to form a Papal Council, that was to
eliminate schism and restore unity, purity and strength to the
Church, and on December 13th he drew up a Bull to be
sent to all the people she indicated. This Bull very evidently
reflects Catherine’s own thought, and some of its passages,
stripped of their ceremony, might have been dictated by her:
‘We believe and hope that in the present terrible storm that
threatens to wreck the Church, more help will be gained, for
God’s cause, through the prayers and tears of die righteous, than
through the weapons of war, and human prudence’. With this
note of confidence he appealed to all righteous members of the
Church to weep and pray without ceasing, to obtain by this
means the intervention of God to save the Papacy from ruin.

Fawticr is surprised that Urban VI did not entrust to Catherine
herself the task of gathering together in Rome the devout friends
on whose assistance she relied, but instead gave this charge to

322 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

Fra Bartolomeo Serafim, the Prior of the Carthusian Monastery
of the little island of Gorgona. Possibly the Pope’s motive in
doing this was the desire to avoid involving Catherine too much
in Church affairs, because some members of the Curia and some
ecclesiastics might have been scandalised to learn that a woman,
even if she were a much admired Saint, was the promoter, and, in
a certain sense, the head of a Council whose function was to
exercise a reforming influence on the Pope and his Church. ‘Our
sweet Holy Father, Pope Urban VI, the true supreme Pontiff,
wishes to apply a remedy necessary for the reformation of Holy
Church; that is, he wishes to see the servants of God by his side,
so that their counsels may be a guide to himself and to Holy
Church’. But it may be that Catherine herself did not want to be
made prominent, and so advised Urban to turn to her friend, Fra
Bartolomeo Serafini, reserving to herself, in a purely private
capacity, the task of gathering up her friends.

We do not know what part the Carthusian Prior of Gorgona
played in this attempt to form and direct the new Papal Council,
but we have four letters written by Catherine, in which she
exhorts and encourages her friends to obey the Pope’s invitation,
and to set out without delay for Rome, where an extraordinary
mission awaited them, that of guiding both Pope and Church.
The plenary meeting was to have been held on January 17th,
1379. The first to be invited were: Fra Bartolomeo Serafmi of
Ravenna, Fra Giovanni Upezzinghi of Calcinaia, the Prior of the
Carthusian Monastery of Pisa; the Vallombrosan Giovanni of
the Cells; the Augustinian William of Fleete; the Dominican
Taddeo of Orvieto; the Franciscan Leonardo of Montepulciano;
Fra Luca of the Florentine Umiliati, and Pietro of San Casciano.
We do not know to which Order this last-named belonged.

These were the names immediately suggested to die Pope by
Catherine, and those which came first to her mind; but other
names also were suggested, and sent to the Prior of Gorgona, so
that he might get into touch with all these devout men. Among
others, we learn from Catherine’s letters, were the Augustinian
Antonio of Nice, the Spoletan hermits Andrea da Lucca, Fra
Baldo and Fra Lando, and also Fra Paolino of Nola. Not a
numerous group, to be sure, for such a capital undertaking, but
it was Catherine’s belief that even a few people could reform the

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world, provided they were rooted in holiness and ready to give
their lives for the cause. These were therefore the friends on whose
devotion she relied.

Certainly, when we consider these Papal Counsellors today,
even from the religious point of view they seem to us, with one
or two exceptions, of mediocre character, similar to dozens of
others we could pick out in any age and any place; but Catherine
was not looking far afield; she preferred to choose men who were
spiritually akin to her, who breathed the same warm religious
atmosphere. It seemed to her futile to go out of her own circle
to look for future reformers worthy of her esteem; and therefore
she turned only to those she knew, telling them their hour had
come; they must hasten to answer God’s call: ‘Let the servants of
God come forth, let them come forth to announce the truth and
sustain it, for now their hour has come’.

With this ringing certainty in her w’ords she roused the luke¬
warm, encouraged the faithful, and exhorted all the Caterinati to
fight for Urban VI and to hasten the end of the Schism. Not the
slightest ripple of doubt shook her confidence in the immediate
success of her plan; she was certain that the future was in her
hands, and in those of her Saints. The reform of the Church, for
so many years desired and prayed for, was about to take place.
She rejoiced; at long last the Church would become truly
Christian.

Meanwhile the news she received was anything but consoling.
Fra Raimondo da Capua, after having eluded the danger of the
Corsair ships in the pay of Clement VII between Rome and Pisa,
and later between Pisa and Genoa, had set out from Genoa to
Ventimiglia, where he had learnt that the roads and passes of
France were guarded by the Schismatics’ militias under the
leadership of the Count of Genevois. Terrified, the worthy
Dominican was tempted to turn back on his tracks. He tells us
himself that a confrere of his, of those parts, sent him a letter of
warning telling him not to continue his journey, because his
enemies were determined to kill him. Perhaps this was an exag¬
geration on the part of one Friar or the other, because in all
probability the Schismatics merely sought to take him prisoner,
as they had done with his more courageous fellow Nuncio,
Giacomo Ceva, who had continued his journey. Fra Raimondo

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

3M

was too easygoing by nature to venture himself in hazardous
undertakings; he did not want to be hindered, or, worse still,
molested; he loved and admired Catherine, but had never suc¬
ceeded in imitating her scorn of this life of the body; so, at
Ventimiglia, as soon as he realised he was in serious danger, he
turned back to Genoa.

Catherine was displeased as soon as she heard of this. She had
hoped that Fra Raimondo would overcome his timid nature;
perhaps she had illuded herself that she had, by her own example
and words, infused into him energy, faith and courage; but now
she had to acknowledge that when the choice came her beloved
master and disciple thought only of himself and of his own
safety. She was distressed, even a little annoyed; her thoughts of
him w’ere tinged with sadness; yet she never ceased to be com¬
passionate and motherly with Fra Raimondo; she wrote him a
letter in which she developed, enriched and adapted to her own
purpose the words of St Paul to the Corinthians, or those similar
words he addressed to the Hebrews, where he affirms that he who
is fed on milk is a child ignorant of what he does, while men of
mature age and wisdom feed on solid food. For Catherine, Fra
Raimondo is at this moment a suckling child, for he wishes to
make the best of both spiritual and temporal worlds without
running any risk; unfit for battle, he docs not understand the
grandeur of those souls who, for a just cause, fling themselves
fearlessly into the fight. For her the joys of prayer and meditation
acquire a greater value if they are preserved, or gathered, during
action; to be content with contemplation alone is to be content
with an incomplete or maimed spiritual life. In her own case
action did not diminish contemplation but followed after it, and
therefore was contained in it. The brave fighting man has passed
out of his childhood and bears in his own body the wounds of
Christ. Catherine knows this from experience; her vivid and
powerful contemplation, experienced in ecstasy and trance, had
never suffered any diminution when she had hurled herself, body
and soul, into the fight to defend Christ and the Church. In
raising oneself to the third Heaven one must never lose touch
with the earth; it is instead the third Heaven that must come
down to flood the soul of the seeker after righteousness. In action,
the delights of contemplation become more precious, and

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325

serenity more radiant. Those who fight always enjoy calm
weather even in a stormy sea; in bitterness they taste great sweet¬
ness; with humble little means they acquire measureless wealth;
while scorned and torn asunder by the world they gather them¬
selves more perfectly into union with God. ‘While suffering
hunger, nakedness, false accusations, violence and insults, they
feed themselves more perfectly on immortal food/ But her
beloved Father and disciple had not been able to join such proven
warriors: ‘You were not yet considered worthy to be on the
field of battle; but, like a child, you were thrust behind; and you
fled willingly, and were delighted with what God had conceded
to you on account of your weakness’.

This was a grave reproach for Fra Raimondo, but Catherine
did not want to humiliate him too much, and so, half-jestingly,
half-affectionately, she called him ‘my naughty little Father,
almost as if she were caressing him to make him smile. She loved
him and understood and excused his weakness; yet she wanted
him to be more courageous in the future: ‘How blissful would
have been your soul and mine if with your blood you had
cemented a stone in the wall of Holy Church, for the love of the
Precious Blood!’

On reading these words Fra Raimondo must have shuddered,
but he may also have reflected that this was too lofty a vision for
common man. Catherine was athirst for martyrdom, but she
could hardly expect her Caterinati to show the same enthusiasm.
He was ready to work assiduously for the good of the Church,
but not beyond the limits of human possibility; he was no hero
to court death voluntarily and deliberately for the sake of the
cause he was defending.

Catherine, however, did not want her master to feel too much
ashamed of having been afraid: ‘Really we have cause for tears
when we see that our scanty virtue has not deserved such a
reward’. In this use of‘we’ and ‘our’ we see the delicacy of her
feelings. She has been harsh—now she tries to soften the effect.
She feels herself responsible for Fra Raimondo’s weakness. If she
had prayed and insisted more earnestly, her master would cer¬
tainly have had more courage. Therefore he must not be cast
down; he must banish shame, raise his head, and be ready to
acquire new energy to be able to do later on what now seemed

326 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

impossible. He must enter the heart of his divine Master, drown
himself in the Blood of Christ, inebriate himself with the Blood;
then he would become valiant and daring in the battle and rejoice.
Like a priestess invoking power from Heaven she demands for
Fra Raimondo Blood, and more Blood and still more of the
saving Blood of Christ, which would enable him one day to
plunge into the battle ‘like a manly knight, for the honour of
God, the welfare of Holy Church and the salvation of souls’.

Other sorrows fell upon Catherine during these days. While
she was endeavouring to gather around herself and around the
Pope ascetics and contemplatives, who were to purify the Church,
she heard rumours which threw doubts upon the future results of
her labours. People were asking what such a Commission of
pious men could hope to achieve in a moment of such crisis for
Christianity. When Catherine heard of these doubts and ques¬
tionings, she was annoyed and grieved. What valid reasons could
be cited to justify the scorn thrown upon her plan, and what
proof had these murmurers that the work she had undertaken
with such enthusiasm would be in vain? Had God not granted her
the certainty that with the help of the Holy Spirit she would be
able to achieve great results in Church reform? Why should she
doubt? ‘I confess that Thou hast promised soon to fulfil my
desires. ... I thank Thee, O lofty and eternal Trinity, because
Thou hast promised soon to strengthen Thy Bride.’ It was impos¬
sible to doubt these divine promises. Therefore it was the sceptics
who were deceiving themselves and others; she was sure she was
acting according to God’s commandments. So she declared, with
sudden imperiousness: ‘And I, presumptuously, say that this shall
be done!’ Determined as she is to overcome the scepticism of her
critics, nevertheless the doubt shown by some of God’s servants
about the value of the Papal Council she had planned creeps even
into her own mind, subtle as a breath of wind. It shall be done,
even if not all at once. It shall be done, even if only in part. And
then she thinks: it shall be done, even if no concrete results are
obtained, because the impress of our desire and determination
cannot be cancelled, and will be sufficient. She reflects further,
and her confidence in the outcome of her effort decreases. Is
success really necessary? It may be that the plan will fail; never¬
theless her conscience will be at rest, and this is what matters most.

CATHERINE IN ROME

3 2 7

Her confidence, that had seemed at first unassailable, has been
shaken; the impulsive strength that had set out to overthrow all
barriers has been checked. She begins to admit the possibility of
failure. This decline of confidence shows how prudently and dis¬
passionately she examined her own work, without hiding from
herself the probability of a negative result. In her own words:
‘And if we do not now achieve our principal aim, at least the way
will have been opened. And even if nothing comes of it, we shall
have shown in the sight of God and of His creatures that we have
done all we could, and our conscience will be relieved. So in any
case it is well.’

A still greater disappointment awaited her later on when some
of the ascetic hermits declined the Pope’s invitation to come to
his aid. She could not understand this. For her there was a time
to speak alone with God and a time to go out among men bearing
a flaming torch to light their path. Woods and wildernesses are
delightful, but if the pleasure they give us becomes a constant
necessity of our life they arc doing us harm by making us selfish.
Christ is prodigal of His love towards His faithful, but on con¬
dition that they are manly, spend themselves in the service of
others, and know how to fight when need arises. They must
know how to oppose not only the invisible powers of darkness,
but the enemies of the Church too. When God’s honour is at stake
His servants must come out of their forests and form a compact
band, in battle array. The woods, full of perfume and song, and
the sunlit solitudes must be left behind, and the solitaries must
experience at close quarters the shock of human passions, so as to
realise to the full the violence of self-love and the tragic drama that
torments Christian folk. They must hasten to where the Church
and the Pope are most endangered, ready with militant speech
and strengthening counsel, throwing in all the forces of the spirit
to avert the fall of Christendom.

Alas! Catherine is obliged to witness grievous defections in her
Family; she sees her friends the hermits, like Fr William of Fleete
and Fra Antonio of Nice, ‘deceived by consolations and hopes,
treated as if they were revelations’, and suffers very much. Why
do they turn a deaf ear to the Pope’s appeal which it is clearly
their duty to answer? The Bachelor replies saying that ‘he who is
bound by divine obedience need not obey the commands of

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

328

creatures’, but surely that is not obedience to creatures when one
obeys a call to compose the Schism that is tearing Christendom
asunder? They must be frank with themselves and acknowledge
their laziness and selfishness. They would like to have order,
peace and serenity everywhere without stirring a foot to help to
bring about this happy state of things; but it is not in this way that
mankind can be won for Christ. Happily there are some servants
of God, friends of hers, Fra Andrea of Lucca and Fra Paolino of
Nola, who, although weary with age and infirmities, have given
up the delightful life of the forest and the austere joys of their
hermitage to come to Rome. Theirs is an example to imitate.
Catherine believes in the power of example and hopes that the
sorrow’ her friends have caused her may bear a future gain. Her
wrath is soon appeased: Father William has shown irreverence in
ignoring Urban’s honourable invitation; nevertheless he is a great
servant of God and must be considered with humility and
affection. If the Bachelor has grieved her, the fault may even be
her own, for in her ‘ignorance and faultiness’ she has not known
how to exhort him to become a warrior in his neighbour’s cause.
Moreover, in the lives of contcmplatives there are at times
mysterious actions that grieve those who observe them, but the
fault may lie with the observers who fail to understand the pro¬
found and hidden motives for these actions, which, on further
reflection, may prove to be according to God’s will. So Catherine
suspends her judgment, which might have led her to accuse them,
and refrains from the slightest condemnation of her friends.

★ ★ ★

The Council of ascetics and mystics desired by Catherine was a
very real and vivid conception of her soul. She thought of it as
an indispensable means of renewing the life of the Church, and
for its formation and success she would willingly have given her
life.

Urban VI thought of it very differently. He was anxious to
establish the strictest morality among his clergy, and believed the
help of these saintly men would be useful for that purpose; so
when Catherine proposed to him her plan of reform with the
help of these ascetics he approved of it and at once did what he

CATHERINE IN ROME 329

could, by means of his Bull, to support her plan. He did not how¬
ever attribute to it the decisive importance that it had in Catherine’s
eyes; to him it was a mere detail in the vast field of Papal policy.
He may have thought that much more than a Council of monks
was needed to raise the prestige of the Church and overthrow the
power of Clement VII, supported as he was by soldiers, bishops,
Cardinals, Princes and Kings. Urban needed money to pay for
militias and to arm them, so that he could answer force with force.
In those days he was not even sure of his own headquarters; he
had had to give up residence in the Vatican because from Castel
Sant’Angelo the Clementines were bombarding the whole
Borgo. Meanwhile some important European States had not yet
pronounced on his legitimacy; others declared themselves neutral,
others again opposed him. He could hardly be expected, in these
circumstances, to trust solely to the prayers of the devout. He was
not a Saint, and was not slow to call in the aid of armed men, that
he considered more effective than spiritual forces.

The last months of 1378 and the first weeks of 1379 were full of
uncertainty, suspicion and anxiety for the Church. The Pope and
the anti-Pope were continually seeking and preparing new moves
and counter-moves, initiating local offensives, and thrusting at
each other’s weakest points with accusations and condemnations.
There was for both sides a succession of alternating disappoint¬
ments and hopes. Urban was appealing for allies and supporters,
and thought Catherine would be useful to him. His first con¬
sideration was to make sure of the loyalty of central Italy;
Catherine, who had already been of great service to the Holy See,
could and should be of use now in the Papal cause. Rome, Tus¬
cany and Umbria, united together, might exercise a very great
influence over the rest of Italy. Urban became a paladin of the
cause of Italian unity, and pointed out the harm that the schis¬
matic Cardinals, most of them French, had done to his country.
He declared himself anti-French. It is to be noted, however, that
he displayed very different sentiments about France and the
French when he wrote letters to the Court of Charles V or gave
instructions to his Ambassadors at that Court, hi this moment,
however, the Italians were all irritated by the wrongs they had
endured at the hands of the French prelates, and so they were glad
to hear assertions that appealed to their national pride. Urban
w

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

330

tried to turn this situation to his own advantage. If the Papacy
could succeed, he thought, in securing the allegiance of the whole
of Italy, it would then be easy enough to cast doubts on the elec¬
tion and achievements of Clement VII, and little by little, all
Europe would come to acknowledge Bartolomeo Prignano as the
true Vicar of Christ. The schismatic Cardinals and the anti-Pope
had been, it was true, more swift to defend their cause at the
various European courts, and they had with great skill convinced
Charles V of the validity of the election of Fondi, thus gaining a
great advantage over him; but if he, the true Pope, could win the
adherence of the whole of Italy, he could then direct a careful and
well-planned propaganda in his own favour and induce Charles V
and his followers to reconsider the course of events, review their
own attitudes, and, as a necessary consequence, abandon the anti-
Pope and attach themselves to him. So the unity of the Church,
the desire of the whole Catholic world, would be achieved.

It was therefore essential to have the whole of Italy recognising
him as legitimate Pope, so as to be able to secure for himself a
safe centre for the irradiation of his authority in Europe. That is
why Urban VI was in these days so concerned about the schis¬
matic Queen, Giovanna of Naples, about Otto of Brunswick,
Giovanna’s fourth husband and the administrator of Monferrat,
about Amedeo VI of Savoy, who had declared for the anti-Pope,
about the Count of Fondi and Francesco da Vico, and Giordano
Orsini. These were enemies to be feared; they had many sup¬
porters, they were combative and could count on the service of
famous militias, eager and ready to fight. Urban’s most urgent
need was to find soldiers to support his cause, so as to set army
against army.

Meanwhile, the use of spiritual and diplomatic weapons was
certainly not to be neglected; in fact, Urban excommunicated the
anti-Pope and the schismatic Cardinals, statesmen and prelates;
he proclaimed a Crusade against the Schism, charging certain
valiant Religious to preach it in Italy and beyond her borders; he
sent the pamphlet ‘De Fletu Ecclesiae, composed by the jurist
Giovanni di Legnano in support of his legitimacy, to various
European courts and the most famous centres of study; he
nominated Ambassadors to defend his cause; he made use of
Catherine’s labours; he honoured Philippe d’Alen^on, the ex-

CATHERINE IN ROME 331

Archbishop of Rouen who was now a Cardinal, with such cere¬
monious pomp that ‘if he had been a Pope he could not have been
treated widi more honour’, as Cristoforo da Piacenza observes.
This was to ingratiate himself with the French clergy, in spite of
Charles V, to whose family the Cardinal belonged.

Above all, Urban was now aiming at gathering together an
army, in which he placed more confidence, for the victory of his
cause, than in the prayers of holy men and women. During the
first months of 1379 he begged for money from those states of
Central Italy that had remained on his side, and availed himself of
Catherine’s epistolary eloquence for this purpose.

He also succeeded in winning over to his cause the Company of
San Giorgio, with Alberigo da Barbiano as its leader, and this at a
time when Clement VII was also doing his best to take the Com¬
pany into his pay. This was the most successful move Urban had
yet made.

Meanwhile, the Clementines had maintained the initiative in
warlike operations. In Rome, Urban was obliged to live in Santa
Maria in Trastevere, because the French captains Pierre Gandelin
and Pierre Rostaing, the defenders of Castel Sant Angelo, were
reducing the Borgo to ruins. Viterbo was an excellent centre for
the mercenary troops who raided the surrounding countryside
and even pressed up to the gates of Rome. From Marino Giordano
Orsini and his men controlled the territory of the Alban moun¬
tains. Pietro Bemaldez, a Catalan pirate in Clement’s pay, guarded
the mouth of the Tiber and the Roman shores; further south, at
Traetto, Capua and Naples were the mercenary companies of
Brittany, Gascony and the Langue d’Oc. In Northern Italy the
armies of Otto of Brunswick and Count Verde were ready to
come down as far as Naples to support the Clementines. There
were other important centres for the Schismatics in other cities of
Italy, and many more abroad.

Until this moment all had gone in the anti-Pope’s favour; the
Schism was spreading, and some States, uncertain which way
victory would turn, remained on friendly terms with both Pope
and anti-Pope, as did Gian Galeazzo Visconti, or else declared
themselves neutral. However, towards the second half of January
1379 fortune turned against Clement VII. He fell ill of tertian
fever. The castle of Cescna (a name of ill augury: did Clement

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

332

remember the massacre of the citizens of Cesena ordered by him
about two years previously, which had made his name execrable
to all Italians?) was sold to the Urbanites by the Clementine
Captain whose duty it was to defend it. Francesco Marescotti,
formerly Archbishop of Pisa and now Cardinal Bishop of Prencste,
a friend of Catherine’s and appointed Legate of Campania, re¬
duced most of his territory to obedience to Urban, and was the
first Urbanite to win a victory over the French militias.

His success, although of modest proportions, seemed to turn
the tide in favour of Urban’s troops. Meanwhile, Castcl Sant’
Angelo was surrounded by his mercenaries. The Captains of the
Castle asked the schismatic Cardinals to send men and provisions
—they were running short of both—and at the beginning of
February the Schismatics ordered their generalissimo, Count
Louis de Montjoie, to go to their aid. The concentration of troops
took place at Latingeto, about ten miles from Fondi. Meanwhile,
Onorato Cactani, the Count of Fondi, ordered Nicola da Ccccano
to occupy Carpineto, a large town in the Lcpini hills which, if it
were to fall into Urbanite hands, would prevent any freedom of
manoeuvre on the part of the Count’s own troops. Nicola da
Ceccano occupied the town with three hundred horse and a large
band of infantry, but failed to get possession of the citadel. When
he heard of this the Cardinal Legate, Francesco Marescotti, sent
Cactano Cactani, Onorato’s brother and a loyal Urbanite, with the
militias stationed in die neighbourhood, to the help of the defen¬
ders of the fortress. Arriving by night and with the help of a full
moon—a brilliant moon, writes Cristoforo da Piacenza—the Leg¬
ate’s militias entered the castle, joined the defenders and fell upon
the Gascons who were occupying the town. There was ‘a most
fierce battle’, which ended in victory for the Urbanites; of the
troops of Onorato Caetani and the Gascon Company more than a
hundred dead were left on the field, and 120 horses and 140 foot
soldiers were taken prisoner. The rest sought safety in flight.

The news of this defeat was a great blow to Clement VII, who
was ill and incapable of leading in person the campaign against
Urban. It was certainly exaggerated at the time by popular
rumour, and although it was a serious setback for the Clemen¬
tines, it did not lead directly to the defeats they were to suffer
later on, nor was it in itself such a grave defeat as to cover the

CATHERINE IN ROME

333

Clementine troops with ignominy. Certainly, however, the war¬
like fame of the Gascons had suffered, and the Urbanites gained
self-confidence, while the feeling of the population of Central
Italy became more hostile to the French Cardinals and their
Italian supporters.

The condition of the garrison of Castel Sant’ Angelo was also
becoming critical. The Count de Montjoie did not come to the
defenders’ aid, nor did he make a decisive attack on the Papal
troops. After establishing his headquarters at Marino, he raided
the countryside around, without achieving any positive results
beyond exasperating the peasants and wasting precious time.
Meanwhile in Rome there was increased activity in the Urbanite
cause. Cardinal Giovanni Fieschi arrived in the city with a great
following, ready to fight the Schismatics. The Ambassadors of
the King of Aragon, and the Flemish Ambassadors, had important
colloquies with the Pope; the Ambassadors of the King of Hun¬
gary were planning with Urban to undermine the power of the
Queen of Naples. The Curia was already speaking of Clement VII
as sick of the dropsy, incapable of further activity; and it was
said that the schismatic Cardinals repented their rebellion and
would willingly have submitted to Urban if they had not been
so much in the power of the Queen of Naples.

There was some truth in the rumour about Clement’s illness:
he was gravely ill. The tertian fever obliged him to change his
residence; he went from Fondi to Sperlonga, fifteen kilometres
away as the crow flics. Some of the Cardinals preceded him there;
Clement himself arrived on March 30th, having travelled
with a certain pomp and distributed largesse (to die sum of
twenty-four florins) to those who had gathered to see him pass.

In the months of February and March the political activity of
the anti-Pope was left to the King of France, ably seconded by the
diplomatic skill of Louis, Duke of Anjou, but, on the whole, it
met with ill success. Clement must have had die impression that
things were not going well for him in Italy. He had reason to fear
that the Company of San Giorgio, with its Captain Alberigo da
Barbiano, would soon pass into Urban’s pay; he saw that the
military operations, conducted by his skilful Captains, were dis¬
connected and inconclusive; he fully realised the aversion the
Italian people felt for him and for die schismatic Cardinals, and

334 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

he knew the keen desire of these latter to abandon Italy again for
Avignon. These indications, and others unknown to us, sufficed
to show Clement that he would never succeed in imposing his
authority in Italy and that, if he stayed there, he would find him¬
self in difficulties. In fact, we learn from Noel Valois of the pre¬
cautionary measures taken by the anti-Pope and his Cardinals for
their personal safety while they were staying at the Castle of
Sperlonga: ‘From twelve to fifteen sentinels mounted guard at
night on the castle walls; all doors that were not strictly necessary,
and any windows through which an enemy might creep, were
closed or walled up. Three camions with their munitions arrived
from Gaeta on April 18th. Timber was cut in the woods
around the castle to construct a palisade; the intention was to
complete with scaffolding an unfinished stone tower, and to build
projecting platforms for defence above the “curtain” between the
bulwarks.’ There was a continual coming and going of couriers
between Sperlonga and Fondi, Sperlonga and Marino—an inter¬
change of messages, orders, news, warnings and advice. Evidently
there was some uncertainty in the Clementine camp, and the little
band at Sperlonga felt anxious.

It was at this juncture that Clement VII violated the intangi¬
bility of the temporal power of the Church in Italy by conferring
upon the Duke of Anjou the kingdom of Adria, formed of Papal
territories. The Bull sent to the Duke on April 17th, 1379, by
the anti-Pope, granting him this kingdom, proves that Clement
already considered his position in Italy to be hopeless, and was
therefore willing to spoil the Church of important possessions in
order to transfer them to anyone who could command an army
powerful enough to establish him as Pope in Rome.

But still more powerful blows were inflicted on Clement
towards the end of April. The Captains of Castel Sant’Angelo had
for many months maintained an admirable resistance, surrounded
as they were on all sides with moats, dykes and trenches, machines
of war and watchful guards, so that ‘a bird could hardly have got
out’. The scanty stores of food, diminishing every day, made a
continuation of the defence impossible. No reply came to the
besieged garrison’s appeal for help. The exhausted defenders had
been willing to surrender since February, but on honourable
terms; the Romans, however, insisted they would treat with the

CATHERINE IN ROME 335

French only ‘cum laqueo ad collwri . Therefore the defence con¬
tinued as bravely as its diminishing resources would permit.
Non-combatants were sent out of the Castle, to economise the
food supplies; munitions were sparingly used. Meanwhile the
besieged appealed to the Clementine army for reinforcements. No
help came from Marino. At last Captain Bernard de la Salle suc¬
ceeded in entering Rome by night with a large band of mounted
soldiers, hoping to be able to join the garrison of Castel Sant’
Angelo, but the Canons of San Giovanni in Laterano perceived
his presence and at once gave the alarm. Immediately the Roman
militias took up arms and Cardinal Giovanni Fieschi, at the head
of a troop of horse, attacked the anti-Papal band, put them to
flight, and pursued them as far as Marino.

This was the second defeat for the Breton and Gascon Com¬
panies; their reputation was rapidly declining. The Papal troops
were overjoyed and began to feel confident of victory. New
militias were formed to fight the anti-Pope’s French troops, and
Companies, like that of Apulia, were enrolled to attack the Count
of Fondi. A warlike enthusiasm took hold of the citizens and
country folk.-of Central Italy. Towards the middle of March the
Curia heaid with great relief that the Company of San Giorgio,
then at Perugia, would soon proceed south to fight on Urban’s
side.

From abroad too the news was now more encouraging. The
German Diet and the new Emperor, Wcnceslas, acknowledged
Urban VI as true Pope and declared themselves ready to defend
him. The King of England, Richard II, sent word that, as far as
he was concerned, Urban was the true Pope and any Clementine
Ambassador who dared come to his country to assert the con¬
trary would be speedily arrested.

Such a change of fortune in their favour inflated the pride of the
Romans and Urbanites, who began to be bold and arrogant
towards die Clementines. The Castle of Sant’Angelo was still
resisting the attacks of the Roman troops towards the end of
April. The resistance had cost and was still costing unheard-of
sacrifices; the defenders were reduced to four ounces of bread a
day and cooked herbs and roots. The miserable ration of bread
was almost exhausted, the wounded were increasing in number,
and the breaches opened by the enemy in the castle walls were a

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

336

source of grave anxiety for the garrison. What were they to do?
For two months already they had been trying to negotiate an
honourable surrender with Giovanni Cenci, the commander of
the besieging troops, but meanwhile the fight dragged on. On
April 27th it was realised that further resistance was impossible;
the garrison saw it could hold out no longer, and surrendered.
This was a grave defeat for the French, and the third in less than
three months. The Clementines began to lose heart, while the
Urbanites became bolder. On April 16th Clement had tried
again to buy back into his service the Company of San Giorgio:
in vain, the Italian mercenaries were for Urban. The only course
of action now left to the Breton and Gascon troops was to attack
and overcome Alberigo da Barbiano, but the Clementine troops
had lost the initiative in the war and preferred to remain on the
defensive.

The generalissimo of the Clementines, Louis de Montjoic, had
perhaps hoped to subdue Rome by starvation, and was therefore
guarding all roads and communications, and raiding the surround¬
ing countryside. These frequent looting expeditions and devasta¬
tions merely served to content his soldiery, but could not be a
serious preparation for war. He had no single and considered plan
of battle. When he heard that the Company of San Giorgio had
left Ponte Lucano, to the soudi of Tivoli, to march towards
Marino, and observed that it had divided itself into three bands to
prepare for battle, he also did this, and taking command of one
band himself, he entrusted another to Sylvestre Budes, and the
third to Bernard de la Salle. Montjoie had twice as many men as
Alberigo, and his were hardened troops proved in battle. Perhaps
he was confident of crushing the eighty lancers, of whom each
enemy squadron was composed, with his own six hundred
lancers; perhaps he underestimated the warlike capacity of the
new Italian Company. As soon as he saw that the enemy was
about to launch an attack, he himsel f attacked with great fury and
fell upon the squadron commanded by Galeazzo Pepoli. This
squadron, assailed with such violence, fell back and was thrown
into confusion. Alberigo at once saw its danger and immediately,
with great daring, hurled his own squadron, followed by his other
troops, into the gap. The onrush of the French was checked and
the retreating troops took heart once more. The soldiers of both

CATHERINE IN ROME 337

sides plunged into the melee as if drunk with slaughter, and the
battle flared up in a general fury.

Alberigo soon emerged as victor. Inspired by his example the
Company showed powerful strength and performed miracles of
daring and courage. They were determined to win at all costs. The
Gascons and Bretons began very slowly to yield ground, then
gave way, and finally fled. The Company of San Giorgio re¬
mained victorious in the field.

As soon as Alberigo da Barbiano wrote to the Pope about this
victory, and the news spread in Rome, there were great rejoicings
in the Curia and among the Urbanites. Foreign countries, far and
near, were informed of the event, so that the Pope’s victory might
everywhere be celebrated. It was a victory that had a moral
significance quite out of proportion to its modest dimensions, and
it became a sort of rallying point of national pride. Was there an
awakening of Italian consciousness in Central Italy? Urban VI
hastened to declare that Italy had been freed of the barbarians.
He may have had joyful hopes of a final liquidation of the anti-
Papal movement, and have thought that after such a crushing
defeat of the French troops it would no longer be possible for
Clement to bolster up his prestige again: then everyone, at home
and abroad, would be forced to recognise Urban as the true Vicar
of Christ.

In fact, the Clementine army was virtually demolished: three
hundred dead, Louis de Montjoie, Sylvcstre Budes and Bernard
de la Salle all taken prisoner, and with them fifty corporals and
two hundred and fifty other men-at-arms. The victor took a booty
of five hundred horses. The hundreds of Bretons and Gascons who
fled in disorder were scattered and panic-stricken, and could
represent no further threat, even if they joined forces with a
hundred Italian lancers and the militias of the Caetani and the
Orsini, still faithful to the anti-Pope.

Clement VII understood in that moment that lie had lost Rome.
It would have been foolish to hazard another military adventure,
or even to prepare for dogged resistance at Sperlonga. Prudence
demanded he should go to a safer place, and he decided to with¬
draw to Naples, w'here he would be under the protection of
Queen Giovanna.

On the morning of May 9th he took ship in the port of

338 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

Gaeta with three Cardinals, and set sail for Naples where he
arrived the next day, about mid-day. He was honourably and
ceremoniously received; the Queen welcomed him at the gate of
the Castle dell’ Ovo, where a great gala banquet had been pre¬
pared for him.

The anti-Pope hoped to be able to rest in Naples, and to plan,
with the Queen and her Government, his next moves in Italy;
but hardly had he arrived when the people rioted to protest
against his presence. For some months past Urban VI had been
busy with propaganda among the Neapolitans, and had succeeded
so well that as soon as Clement arrived in Naples the population
showed their hatred of him. The riot was a serious demonstration
against Clement and also against the Queen for supporting him.
The people attacked the palace of the French Archbishop, and the
monastery of San Pietro ad Aram, which had a schismatic
Cardinal for abbot; then, still shouting and cursing, they ran to
the Castle dell’ Ovo, crying: ‘Death to Clement and his Cardinals!
Death to the anti-Christ! Death to the Queen, also, if she defends
him!’ and to emphasise still more clearly their loyalty to the
Roman Pope they added: ‘Long Live Pope Urban!’ The popular
rising was too violent and extensive to be quelled with force, and
the populace gave no signs of returning to calm, but continued to
demonstrate against the anti-Pope and the Queen. Clement soon
began to fear for his own safety and that of his followers. ‘All
Italy, land and sea, was for Urban, who had succeeded in unifying
it around himself.’ While this thought saddened Clement, he was
tormented by the fear that Urban was plotting to seize him, alive
or dead. At that moment he could think of nothing better to do
than to take ship once more, with the three Cardinals who
accompanied him, and return to the Castle of Sperlonga. So, on
May 13th, a sorrowful and frightened man, he set out once more
by sea.

The next day, at Sperlonga, he must have reflected very seriously
about his own situation, and that of his schismatic Papacy that he
was resolved to save. The forces still at his disposal were very
scanty; the help that he might expect from the King of France,
from Louis of Anjou, Amedeo of Savoy and the other powerful
schismatic leaders, would take long to come; at this moment he
was without supporters in central and southern Italy and might

CATHERINE IN ROME 339

easily be taken prisoner. He paid a brief visit to Fondi, to ascertain
more facts, and returned to Spcrlonga convinced that no plan for
war, or for resistance, could possibly succeed in Italy. He decided
therefore to set out for Avignon with the few faithful who had
remained with him. Meanwhile he may have received the news
that Queen Giovanna, unable to quell the revolt of her people,
had on May 18 th proclaimed the legitimacy of Urban VI and was
sending Ambassadors to Rome to offer the Pope her full and
complete submission. In any case, he saw that the dangers that
beset him increased with every day and that his residence at
Sperlonga might have a disastrous end. On May 22nd, with
all his court, except for two Cardinals, Clement VII left Italy and
set sail for Marseilles. It was a long, dangerous, even at times a
terrifying, voyage. Finally, on June 20th, he reached Avignon.

When Urban VI heard that his enemy had set sail for France he
felt joy mingled with chagrin; joy because his redoubtable foe
would no longer molest him at close quarters, chagrin because he
would have felt safer if he had been able to capture him. Perhaps
he now hoped that the union of the Italian States around his
person would soon produce the union of Catholic Europe and the
end of the Schism. But if he hoped for this he was deceived, for it
was after the arrival of Clement in Avignon that the Schism
settled down, became ordered, defined and consolidated, and
crushed the Church for forty years, inflicting wounds that tore
Christendom asunder and disturbed men’s minds so powerfully
that it prepared die way for the future Reformation.

The vicissitudes of Papal fortune that we have been describing
were known to Catherine, almost, one might say, experienced by
her. Very often the disciples, friends and admirers who went to
stay with her for an hour, or for some days, as if her house were a
charitable hospice, brought her information about the Schism;
the Curia gave her semi-official news, and she heard the popular
rumours about the events and people most talked about. Hearing
and observing all, she was still convinced that political events must
in the end become religious events; her general and fundamental
outlook on the Schism was the same as that of the Pope and the
Curia. She trembled with fear or indignation when she heard
what Clement VII and his supporters were doing, and hurled
crushing invective against the Schismatics. She saw herself as the

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

340

paladin of the Papacy, and wrote to everyone affirming that
Urban VI was the true Pope and the schismatic Cardinals incarnate
fiends.

When examined dispassionately, her arguments, common to
all good Urbanites of the time, have no great value either his¬
torically or dialectically, but she animated them with such pro¬
found conviction that she imparted her fervour to others. The
historical facts interested her only to a certain extent, and were
never the main source of her contention; it was the moral and
religious significance of events that was all-important to her.

Towards the end of 1378 she wrote to Queen Giovanna of
Naples, when it was known that the Queen had become a
Schismatic. Her letter tries to be historical and objective, but
instead is polemical and accusing. She relates the history of the
Conclave that had elected Urban, without conceding to the
Cardinals any attenuating circumstances; she ignores the threats
of the Roman populace, and deduces Urban’s legitimacy from
die austerity of his life. If Giovanna wishes to understand the
difference between Urban VI and the Schismatics she must con¬
sider the conduct of Clement VII, of the Cardinals who have
elected him, and of their followers, and then think of what
Bartolomeo Prignano’s life has always been. There is no
righteousness in those men. Is there a Saint or a just man among
them ? She must remember that where there is no virtue there is
no truth; therefore ‘their lives show they do not speak the truth’.
And who can believe men who are strangers to truth? Or, worse
still, accept them as leaders of a religion that is founded on virtue?
Who is the anti-Pope if not ‘a man of iniquity, a devil, and there¬
fore acting like a devil’ ? And, being a devil, what confidence can
he inspire? Had the Schismatics no better candidate to elect? Their
spiritual and moral poverty is complete, else ‘why did they not
elect a just man?’ Here is the clue to the illegitimacy of Clement
VII. It is useless to find out whether or not the election took place
according to the rules; useless to refer to canon law for enlighten¬
ment; the proof that Robert of Geneva is not the true Pope lies in
the fact that we know him to be unjust, for justice can never be in
accordance with injustice. Whether or not the Cardinal of Geneva
possesses political gifts is beside the question. If a Pope is not
virtuous, every other quality of his, however precious, becomes

CATHERINE IN ROME 341

injurious and therefore wicked: the Vicar of Christ must be a
model of virtue. On this point—and here lies the profound
meaning of letter 317, from which we have quoted—all Chris¬
tians must agree with Catherine.

Why then has Queen Giovanna become a Schismatic? Through
the counsels of the King of France and her own ministers ? For
political reasons ? All this has certainly had its part in forming her
decision, but according to Catherine it was due, more than any¬
thing else, to her sensual nature, because ‘unsteady and passionate
as you are, you have let yourself be ruled by passion. O wretched
passion! Through this I see you changed, and reduced to the
condition of a fickle woman without constancy.’ This also is a
purely moral judgment, and the Saint goes on to predict the
inevitable judgment of God that she secs already suspended above
the Queen’s head. As she loves the Queen and wishes to save her
soul, she begs her to abandon political schemes, ambitions and
associations, and turn all her strength to the subduing of her own
passions. She must reform her life, return to truth; only by so
doing will she free herself from evil and, drawing near to the
fountain of purity, lead a prosperous and happy life. If, instead,
Giovanna prefers to live in falsehood, then the wrath of God will
fall upon her: ‘If you do not change your ways and correct your
life, cleansing it from all error . . . the Supreme Judge who allows
no fault to pass unpunished, unless the soul purges itself with heart¬
felt contrition, confession and penance, will give you such a
punishment that you will be set as a terrifying example to warn
any who should ever wish to rebel against Holy Church’.

She turns this threat at once into a prayer: ‘Return to your fold,
be ruled by your shepherd lest the infernal wolf devour you’. The
past is written in everlasting characters, and time is a terrible
witness unless we repent of the evil we have done; but if we are
contrite God wipes out the past, and then only the present and the
future acquire meaning and life. Therefore Catherine’s request
becomes insistent and imploring: ‘There is still time, dearest
mother, to appease the judgment of God. Return to the obedience
of Holy Church, recognise the evil you have done, bow down
beneath God’s powerful hand, and He, who regards the humility
of His handmaid, will be merciful to you; He will soften the wrath
He feels for your sins.’ Liberation will therefore come from God,

342 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

and what joy it will be to breathe again great draughts of purity
and feel the soul, free from all sin, become lighter and ever
lighter. Purity is given through the Blood of Christ, for His
Blood works miracles: ‘Through Christ’s Blood you will graft
yourself on Him and bind yourself to Him with the bond of
charity, in which charity you will recognise and love the truth;
the truth will raise you out of falsehood, you will dissipate all
darkness, you will have vision and knowledge of the mercy of
God. In this truth you will be fed, but in no other way.’

This epistle is so full of urgent and indignant appeal as to seem
the bearer of an imperious divine command. Another letter sent
to Giovanna (letter 348 of Tommaseo’s edition) is more tranquil
and affectionate. It was probably written before the battle of
Marino. Reading it immediately after letter 217 the style seems
faded. There are spurts of indignation which is at once smothered
in pity, and the latent violence is lulled to wistfulncss. As Giovanna
is persisting in schism, to the ruin of her soul, she must be begged
and implored to withdraw from error: ‘Do not make my eyes
weep rivers of tears over your poor little soul, or over your body;
for I consider your soul as if it were my own. . . . When I con¬
sider your soul I see that it is dead, because it is separated from
your body; it is persecuting not Pope Urban VI, but our truth
and faith.’ Catherine writes very sadly. She had placed great
hopes in Giovanna of Naples as leader of a Crusade against the
infidels. But the Queen had accepted schism and persisted in it.
Catherine’s heart was sore. She would have wished to be near
her, speak to her, engulf her in a flood of loving kindness, en¬
lighten her soul, save her from schism. ‘O how blissful my soul
would be if I could come down there to you, and offer my life
to give you all the blessings of Heaven and earth, to take away
from you the knife of cruelty with which you have killed your¬
self, and to help you to use the knife of compassion which kills
vice; that is, that with the holy fear of God and the love of truth
you may robe and bind yourself in His sweet will!’ The dark
threats of the preceding letter have now given place to phrases of
more general application: ‘We must fear God and tremble beneath
the rod of His justice’. And although she wishes to frighten the
Queen, she does not now predict disasters for her in life and after
death as a direct chastisement from God, but sets before her the

CATHERINE IN ROME 343

threat of being declared a heretic by die Pope, and so losing her
kingdom. Now, however, this grave threat, instead of being
severely presented, is explained and almost mitigated: ‘And if I
consider your condition as regards these temporal and transitory
goods that pass away like the wind, you yourself have already
forfeited them; it only remains now for you to receive the final
sentence of confiscation and to be publicly declared a heretic’.
We do not know for certain whedier Catherine was here quoting
the Pope’s intention concerning the kingdom of Naples. Baluzio
refers to various witnesses who reported that since the end of
1378, Urban VI had been planning to give the throne of Naples
to Carlo ofDurazzo, and to force Giovanna to retire to a nunnery;
this was a very likely plan for Urban to think of, and it is also
quite possible that Catherine was repeating his wishes in her letter,
or echoing the rumours current in the Curia about the necessity
of dethroning the schismatic Queen.

hi any case Catherine’s intention was kind; she wanted to warn
the Queen of a grave danger, and to save her from ruin and
shame: ‘My heart breaks and cannot break, for the fear I have
that the devil may so darken the eyes of your intellect that you
will suffer grave disaster and shame and confusion. I would gladly
suffer even more—to save you.’

Catherine wrote not only to the Queen of Naples, to try to
induce her to repent and return to the obedience of the Pope of
Rome; but she wrote also to a Neapolitan gentlewoman, an
intimate of Giovanna s, so that she also might sow the good seed
of truth in the Queen’s heart.

During these four months preceding the battle of Marino,
Catherine was employing all her energies in religious activity and
in propaganda for Urban’s cause. She had frequent interviews
with the Pope, and was a trusted and authoritative interpreter of
his will. When she heard that the Ambassadors of the anti-Pope had
visited Siena to persuade the city to take the part of Clement VII,
she immediately set her disciples to work with her own en¬
thusiastic energy in support of Urban. Pagharesi wrote at once
to Cristoforo Guidini and to Stefano Maconi to ask them to
inform him which citizens of Siena sided with the anti-Pope, and
which could be considered loyal to Urban. The Pope needed this
information. Catherine herself, in her spiritual letters to friends

344 my servant Catherine

and disciples, often referred, sometimes merely eti passant, to
Urban’s legitimacy and to the urgent needs of the Church—so as
to make sure that the group of her Caterinati and friends were
reminded of the justice of the Pope’s cause, and so that his sup¬
porters might continually increase. When she heard that Urban
needed money to continue the war against the Schismatics she at
once despatched to the Signoria of Florence a fiery sermon on
ingratitude. She had known them at first hand, these Florentine
Signori; they were selfish and avaricious, and she told them so:
‘Your subjects are not fed at the Commune’s breast with justice
or brotherly charity; everyone (in power) pursues his own par¬
ticular ends with deceit and lies, and no one cares for the common
good. Everyone seeks power for himself, not the welfare and
good government of die city.’ These are truths hurled in the faces
of the Signori who, like all politicians of every age and place,
think more of satisfying their own ambitions and their thirst for
wealth or power, than of the needs of those they rule. However,
these observations and reflections of Catherine’s do not end, as
one might logically expect, hi a warm appeal for the better
treatment of the Florentine people, but take a winding road and
arrive at the conclusion that our chief neighbour is the Pope, and
therefore we owe to him supreme gratitude, and the Signori of
Florence have the duty to come to his aid. Had the Florentines not
received great benefits from Pope Urban a few short months
previously, when they made peace with him? Had the Pope not
mercifully re-admitted them to the fold of Holy Church? They
must remember, then, the graces they had received, and support
Urban and his cause with generous disbursements of money.

This just and vibrant letter, when considered in detail, is cer¬
tainly ill-constructed. Catherine would have written more effec¬
tively if, in the first few lines, she had simply appealed to the
Signori of Florence to help the Pope because he was in need,
according to their bounden duty as citizens and as Christians. But
very often the direct purpose for which she wrote her letters got
overlaid with general and religious reflections, which were, after
all, those nearest to her heart; the original intention reappeared
on the surface, here and there, but the link that bound it with her
other thoughts was so subtle as to make it appear almost extran¬
eous. This is a further proof that political propaganda was never

CATHERINE IN ROME

345

felt as a natural need of Catherine’s soul, and that when she made
use of it, it was in the cause of religion. Those letters of hers that
are mainly political in content are very few, because she nearly
always smothered politics in an exuberance of religious matter.
This does not mean that she had no use for ecclesiastical politics;
in fact, she accepted them as a necessary complement to the life
of the Church. Her way of thinking is the consequence of her
passionate apostleship, which induced her to believe every victory
won for the Papacy was a victory won for Christ in the consciences
of men.

Simpler, more direct, and therefore more powerful are the
letters she sent to the rulers of Perugia, and, some months later,
to the rulers of Siena. In these she boldly presents the problem of
Urban’s need of support from his faithful, and declares it is the
duty of these governments, who have received benefits from him,
to give him every help they can. The supreme Pontiff needs
money; they must send him their offerings at once if they wish to
show they understand what gratitude is, not only the gratitude of
individuals, but the gratitude of States.

While she wrote these encouraging and comforting letters to
distant friends and disciples she continued to direct the spiritual
children she had with her in Rome, and helped and guided those
Religious who had accepted her invitation to come to Rome,
who were to direct their efforts towards making the Church one
and holy. She procured Indulgences for all her friends, to enable
them better to defend Urban’s cause, a cause she considered to be
as worthy as a Crusade. She had not given up the idea of a Crusade
against the infidels, of which she had dreamt for so many years
and which she was determined to set in action; this campaign
against Schism was a secondary Crusade, and prayer alone would
secure its triumph. She wrote to Monna Agnese da Toscanella:
‘Concerning what you sent word to me about, of going to the
Holy Sepulchre, I do not think the time is right for it now; I think
it more according to the sweet will of God that you should stay
here, and cry out continually with heartfelt grief before His
countenance, with great sorrow to see Him so wretchedly reviled,
and especially by that heresy that has been started by wicked men
to corrupt our faith, saying that Pope Urban VI is not the true
Pope’,
x

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

346

The real, the great Crusade against the infidels is not then to beset
aside for any other; it is only postponed till a better time. It could
not be abandoned, for it had a universal significance, as an attempt
to convert the whole world. So Catherine continued to think of it
as a future event, and wrote to Don Pietro of Milan who had ex¬
pressed his desire to take part in the Holy Expedition, advising him
to hold himself in readiness because she intends, assoonas the oppor¬
tunity presents itself, to ask the Pope to proclaim the Crusade: ‘Again
I reply to you and promise you that when the time comes, so long
desired, by you and other servants of God, aud when it is possible
for me to ask for permission from the Vicar of Christ, I will do
so willingly, so that your holy desire may be fulfilled’.

The thought of the Crusade never left her. On May 30th,
when the Urbanite cause seemed about to triumph—the anti-
Pope had set sail for France—Catherine was thinking about it
with great longing and, desiring to hear it at last proclaimed, she
wrote to Urban: ‘These servants of God will be the soldiers who
will give you total victory, not just victory over wicked Chris¬
tians, who are members cut off from holy obedience, but over the
infidels—for I have a great desire to see the standard of the Holy
Cross raised above their heads. And now it seems as if they come
to invite us. It will then be doubly joyful tc go.’

The familiarity that Catherine had acquired with the Pope and
his court did not blind her to the defects of cither. Faced with a
danger so grave as Schism, she understood that it was useless to
remain fixed in an uncompromising attitude towards moral and
religious questions, observing a strictness which, if absolute,
would also be barren of good results; nor was it a moment to
inveigh too much against those who, in the Church, failed to
practise an integral Christianity. In the sad times through which
they were passing it was necessary to be comprehensive and
generous: ‘You cannot all at once wipe out those human faults
that are commonly committed within the Christian community
and chiefly among the clergy’, she wrote to Urban. Nevertheless,
it was her mission to insist that at least the Cardinals should be
irreproachable. Otherwise, what advantage would the Church
have gained when, on September 18 th of the previous year, it had
reconstituted the College of Cardinals ? If the new Cardinals were
to follow in the footsteps of the old, what would the Church gain?

CATHERINE IN ROME 347

‘I tell you that the divine Goodness complains that His Bride has
been divested of her old trees (the schismatic Cardinals), who had
grown old in vices, in pride, filth, avarice and the practice of
simony; and now the new trees (Urban’s Cardinals), who should
confound those vices with their virtues, begin to stray and to
follow the same pattern.’ But the responsibility for this is to be
attributed partly to the Pope himself: ‘Your Holiness has not that
concern for this matter that you should have’, observes Catherine,
and, becoming bolder, she advises Urban to discipline his own
impulsive and choleric nature: ‘For the love of Christ Crucified,
mitigate a little those impulsive outbursts of your own nature.
Chastise your nature by means of holy virtue.’ With supernatural
strength he is to discipline his natural temperament and so become
a worthy Vicar of Christ. Has she not prayed to Christ, saying:
‘I desire that Thou shouldst make of Thy Vicar another Christ’ ?

Urban VI, besides indulging to excess his own autocratic
temper, was ever ready to grant unjust privileges to his relations;
Catherine knew this and rebuked him for it—a rebuke without
harshness, veiled with much praise that she really thought he
deserved. ‘You have by nature a great heart’, she told him; ‘you
are zealous for the good of the Church, you have the character of
a reformer, but that is not enough. You need to acquire super¬
natural virtue because he who trusts to nature only, when the
time comes that he must punish people who arc very near to him,
withholds his hand and is afraid to strike.’ Without appearing to
do so, she has aimed well and struck her target.

But Catherine’s ideas on how to set about ecclesiastical reforms
gave her no peace, and made her insist to Urban: ‘Surround your¬
self with virtuous men, those I have indicated to you; give them
the chief offices in the Church; let them advise and guide you.
My devout friends are among God’s familiars, and will never let
themselves be corrupted, neither by flattery nor by wealth. They
have been admitted to the divine mysteries, and judge human
events with detachment and clarity; they grieve over the filth
that has made the Church putrid, and pray without ceasing that
she may soon be cleansed. Trust yourself to them, and God’s
honour and your own will shine again, and the Schism will come
to an end because heresy is extinguished in the good and holy
fame and odour of virtue.’

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

348

It was then the moral and spiritual life of the Church that most
interested Catherine, while she learnt with some trepidation of
the warlike events that were taking place in Rome and the sur¬
rounding country during those weeks. She longed for the triumph
of the Urbanite cause. We do not know whether she realised the
significance of the skirmish at Carpineto, but she certainly re¬
joiced at the fall of Castel Sant*Angelo and the victory of Marino.
‘Four weeks ago’, she wrote to Urban on May 30th, 1379, ‘we
have seen in a most memorable way how tbe power of God has
worked wonders by means of His vile creature, so that we clearly
see that it is He who works, and not human power. Let us then
give the glory to Him and be humbly grateful/

The emphasis laid on the ‘vile creature’ (herself) through whose
means God had worked His miracles, has led some writers to
deduce that she played some part in the conclusion of negotiations
for the surrender of Castel Sant’Angelo; but surely Catherine’s
assertion is of too generic a nature to permit such a precise
explanation. The ‘wonderful works’ may include the fall of Castel
Sant’Angelo, but also the victory of Marino and Clement VII’s
flight from Italy. It is natural to suppose that the Saint, in her
anxious thoughts and prayers, followed the vicissitudes of the
struggle, and that she may even have advised Giovanni Cenci,
whom she held dear, to be generous in his dealings with the
French, but this does not mean (as even Tonimaseo thought) that
she had a hand in the negotiations themselves. We have no reason
to think these were difficult, long or complicated. The defenders
of the Castle were short of food and could no longer continue the
resistance, and the soldiers of the anti-Pope found themselves
unable to succour them. Surrender became sn absolute necessity,
so that in the end no protracted discussion was needed between
besiegers and besieged. It may therefore be asked why Catherine
attributes to herself such a large share in the major events of those
days, and why she insists to Urban on the part she has played. She
does this to make it quite clear what power there is in the prayers
of God’s friends. For her all historical events take place either in
the devil’s domain or in Christ’s; as the Clementines belong to the
devil they must be utterly defeated, and who can do this but
Christ Himself? But how can He intervene unless He be implored
to do so by folk who are dear to Him? That is why Catherine

CATHERINE IN ROME 349

pours out her tears and prayers before Christ, and strives to raise
to His throne her longings and her impulses of love. She has not
the slightest doubt that God grants her prayers; in fact, what she
prays for comes to pass.

She has prayed for the fall of Castel Sant’Angelo, and it has
surrendered. She has prayed for victory for the Urbanites and,
sure enough, Alberigo da Barbiano has defeated the schismatic
troops. She has wanted the anti-Pope to be humiliated and
defeated, and now she hears of Clement VII, beaten, fleeing from
Italy. All this is a sure sign of the divine answer to the prayers of
God’s servants; she knows God fulfils her desires. Therefore,
without the slightest fear of complacency, she asserts that ‘the
power of God has performed wonders through His vile creature’.

The battle of Marino moved her profoundly and stirred her
imagination; in the mercenaries of the Company of San Giorgio
she saw not professional soldiers, ready to fight for whoever paid
best, but idealists, ready to venture their lives in a sublime cause.
‘You are knights who have entered the fight to give your lives
for the love of life and your blood for love of the Blood of Christ
Crucified’, she wrote to Alberigo da Barbiano and his corporals,
on May 6th, 1379. But her imagination soared yet higher, and she
thought of the adventurers as martyrs: ‘Now is the time of the
new martyrs. You are the first to give your blood. What is your
reward? An infinite reward: life eternal.’ The end achieved makes
her forget, at least momentarily, the ugly means that had been
used to reach it.

Urban’s cause is the Church’s, and therefore Christ’s most holy
cause: ‘In serving the Church and the Vicar of Christ you serve
Him’. The valiant warriors who have fallen in battle defending
Urban VI may have been venal, violent and rapacious, but dying
for Christ they are purified by His Blood, and so must be num¬
bered among the ‘new martyrs’. Yet her enthusiasm wanes as soon
as she detaches her thoughts from the results of the battle of
Marino, and from those who died or were wounded on the field,
to meditate on the Company of San Giorgio as it really is. She has
heard rumours that some of the Company, bribed by offers of
higher pay, have passed into the service of Clement VII. She
grieves over this and hopes none of the others will follow their
wretched example; otherwise the Pope will soon be without

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

350

defenders, and the ruin of the Church will be at hand. In her
letter to Alberigo, which Professor Gardner calls a prose poem in
honour of Christian chivalry, she mingles appeal with advice,
exhortation with rebuke, and prayer with thought. ‘Your
soldiers’, she tells him, ‘rob and devastate. This is not their task;
they should stick to fighting, for the understanding and the body
cannot attend to two things at the same time, pillaging and
fighting.’ The Saint conceives of fighting as a sacred function,
and of the soldier as the strict defender of justice and truth. As,
however, the leaders and men of the Company do not share her
ideas about this, Catherine insists that the Captain, Alberigo, shall
inform his men about their great mission, and oblige them to
purify themselves, that is, to go to confession. Deprecating the
desertion of some of the Company to the Schismatics, she warns
him: ‘Be always on your guard against treachery, within or
without’. In fact, to avoid possible treachery she advises Alberigo
to choose for his officers ‘manly and faithful men, the most
righteous you can find’, and above all begs him to offer himself to
‘sweet Mother Mary’, taking her as his advocate and defender.
By acting thus he will make sure of having a perfect army, that
will be ever victorious, winning for itself extraordinary fame on
this earth, Christ’s garden. She admires him now but will admire
him much more in the future, if he remains loyal to Urban VI.
Moreover, she is ready to pray for him, as Moses prayed for his
people while they fought and won dirough his prayers. The same
day on which she wrote to Alberigo Catherine wrote also to the
‘Lords Banderesi and Four Good Men, Governors of the Republic
of Rome’. Her soul was overflowing with joy for the fall of
Castel Sant’Angelo, and for the Company’s victory at Marino
—but in the midst of her joy and gratitude she was perturbed by
the conduct of the Romans. Which of them had acknowledged
Giovanni Cenci’s merits, his fortitude, loyalty and frankness?
Who had rendered thanks to God for the victory of Marino?
Who was caring for the Company's wounded? Who appreciated
the example Urban had set in going bare-footed in procession
from Santa Maria in Trastevere to the tomb of the Apostles? The
Romans showed the victors nothing but ingratitude, lukewarm¬
ness of feeling, uncharitableness, carelessness and envy. Observing
this, Catherine feels impelled to write to the Banderesi, to show

CATHERINE IN ROME 351

them very clearly the disillusionment they have caused her. It is a
letter that ought to have shaken the consciences of the rulers, a
closely reasoned and fervent sermon on the evils of ingratitude;
one feels the writer’s clear conviction that politicians and soldiers
can be reasoned with as well as men of the Church. She does not
perceive that the Romans judge events from a point of view
opposite to her own. For Catherine the fall of the Castcllo and the
victory of Marino mean a long step towards the unity of the
Church and the conquest of the world for Christ, so that she
thought of Cenci and the Company of San Giorgio as instruments
of Christ working for the establishment of His kingdom on earth.
Therefore they were worthy of admiration and gratitude. For the
Romans, instead, both victories were important because they
gave a greater security to Rome and a little more tranquillity to
the surrounding countryside; but they were not considered as
initiating a general period of welfare or future bliss. Giovanni
Cenci had certainly directed with valour the siege of Castel Sant’
Angelo up to the moment of its surrender, but the courage and
skill of all those who had fought had been no less than his. Why
should he be exalted as if he had greater merits than all the other
leaders? Some prominent men in Rome extolled his courage,
others belittled it. Envy or malice may have prompted these
rumours which were frequent in the City. As for the Company,
what had it done, after all, beyond what it was paid to do ? Why
should the Romans be grateful to these mercenaries ? If the Roman
people neglected to care for the Company’s wounded it was
because of the general dislike for mercenary soldiers, who in fact
habitually tyrannised over the States they were serving and sup¬
posedly defending; they often raided and pillaged the whole
territory. Why should the people be kind and considerate to
them? There was, moreover, another reason for the antipathy
felt in Rome for Alberigo’s soldiers. The city was short of corn,
and the responsibility for this scarcity was readily laid to their
door.

This way of judging events was far removed from Catherine’s
conception, for she detached herself from all selfish considerations
to imagine and to will a perfect way of life for the Church and
for all Christendom. She wanted the Papacy to triumph, and
therefore she insisted that the Banderesi should be charitable,

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

352

peaceable, and grateful to the victors of Marino, who had not yet
completed their task, for they had other battles to fight in Urban’s
cause, and other victories to win before they could bring about
the desired result: one Shepherd of one Church.

The victory of Marino spurred on Urban, now confident of
success, to attempt by diplomatic means to turn France away from
her flirtation with the anti-Pope, and to make Charles V recognise
him as the legitimate Pope. France could not be ignored, for she
was the most important Catholic state of that time, and her
religious policy was imitated by several lesser States. Urban there¬
fore decided to nominate an Ambassador to send to Charles V,
and on Catherine’s advice he chose Raimondo da Capua, who
had remained at Geneva after the failure of ms earlier mission. At
once he sent him Bulls and instructions, and to spare him the
dangers and obstacles that had previously prevented him from
completing his journey he now informed him of a safer route
through territories governed by the Kings of Aragon and
England, both officially loyal to Urban.

As soon as he arrived at the French court Fra Raimondo was to
plead Urban’s cause with arguments based on the instructions he
had received, somewhat ingenuous and, in certain details, mis¬
taken instructions. Urban VI and the Curia had not been informed
about the success the astute schismatic Cardinals had enjoyed at the
French Court, nor had they understood the character of Charles V.
Fra Raimondo’s instructions were not based on powerful or
original arguments, but merely repeated the already threadbare
Urbanite themes in an effort to prove the legitimacy of Urban VI,
a legitimacy which was said to be demonstrated by the fact that
universities, Princes, Kings and the Emperor himself had adhered
to his cause. Urban was described as ‘very French’ by choice,
although Italian by birth; the French were reminded of all the
benefits that had been granted to them to please their King, and
they were promised further help and advantages in the future and
reminded of the sudden and significant death of the schismatic
Cardinal of Therouanc, Aycclin de Montaigu; the surrender of
Castel Sant’Angelo and the victory of Marino were given a
superhuman character as if God had willed them to exalt Urban
and show he was the true Vicar of Christ.

These somewhat feeble arguments were rendered even less

CATHERINE IN ROME 353

efficacious by the addition of some palpable falsehoods due to
wrong information. How could Fra Raimondo have asserted at
the French Court, without making a fool of himself, that a dis¬
figuring mark or ‘tau’ had appeared on the face of Clement VII,
soon after his election as anti-Pope, as a token of divine punish¬
ment? How could he have declared to the French that the
Universities of Orleans, Toulouse and Paris had taken Urban’s
part, widiout calling forth categorical denials or half-pitying
smiles? What proofs had he to show that neutral Spain was
Urbanite? If Fra Raimondo had arrived at the French Court and
followed his instructions, not only would he have failed to con¬
vince Charles and his Court, but he would have done harm to
Urban’s cause. Urban, however, had not the slightest doubt about
the arguments he thought were in his favour, and was already
congratulating himself on excellent results from the French
mission.

The month of May seemed full of good augury for the Papacy.
The consequences of military success were such as to fill the Pope
and Curia with joy. The future smiled upon them. Clement VII
had found no shelter at Fondi or at Sperlonga, or even in the
kingdom of Naples; he had fled to Avignon; the Company of
San Giorgio was winning victory after victory and conquering
more lands for the Holy See; Urban’s enemies, such as Giovamia
of Naples and Giordano Orsini, were submitting to the Pope.
There was therefore another region of Italy to add to the many
European states who had declared for Urban. The Pope could
dream of still greater power, of a Papal realm vast enough to
include at least the whole of Europe, and he could indulge his
ruthless imagination by picturing to himself his rival overthrown,
soon to be crushed, and the schismatic Cardinals morally and
materially demolished. He also expected the Clementine Kings,
Princes and prelates to return humbly to their obedience to him.
In this hour of triumph, on June 12th, 1379, he launched an
Encyclical that rang out like a song of victory. Events had con¬
firmed him as the only true Head of the Church; who now could
doubt of it? What sincere mind could deny the evidence of his
victories? Surely God was with him. Perhaps in these joyful days
he thought of Raimondo da Capua’s arrival at the Court of
Charles V and imagined him using all his eloquence to defend the

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

354

Urbanite cause. Perhaps he thought also that the University of
Paris would listen eagerly to the arguments he expounded, and
resolve finally to side with Urban, while Charles himself, struck
with wonder at the Urbanite Nuncio’s exposition, would repent
having supported the anti-Pope and would appeal to him, the true
Vicar of Christ, for mercy. Then he, Urban, with severe and
ceremonial gesture, worthy of the great Papal tradition, would
grant him mercy and forgiveness, and have: the King at his side
ever afterwards, to defend the Church.

These were bright and attractive dreams, but lasted no longer
than a strip of blue sky seen between stormy clouds that part to
close again. The Schism continued and was consolidated; in fact,
it became still more dangerous for Urban. When Clement VII
arrived in Avignon he was welcomed with great rejoicings and
festivities. Charles V, with subtle political skill, encouraged his
nobles to take Clement’s part; the schismatic delegates worked
most zealously in the European Courts, arousing sympathy and
finding support. There were Saints, prelates, politicians, jurists and
warriors who believed in Clement and defended him. It was no
longer possible to eliminate permanently cither of the contendant
parties; the Pope of Rome and the Pope of Avignon were now
both strong enough to stand up to each other. Even in Italy there
were still skirmishes between Clementines and Urbanites, and there
was always the threat of a major war with France. The Queen of
Naples had submitted to the Pope to avoid a popular rising and
the dissolution of her kingdom; but she was ready to return to
the Clementine faith as soon as a favourable occasion presented
itself. Urban VI suspected this and therefore was her enemy. In
fact, in the Curia it was well known that the Pope considered
Giovanna’s submission to be false, and was threatening to punish
her. There were rumours of negotiations between Urban and the
Hungarian Ambassadors with the intention of dethroning the
Queen. The Pope had not troubled to hide his aversion for her
and his intention to punish her, as he showed in his Encyclical of
June ist, in which he referred to her as ‘Joanna quoque olim regina
Siciliae.

For her part, the Queen watched Urban’s political activity with
distrustful anxiety. Not wishing to let herself be caught in his net,
she maintained close relations with the Court of France, and

CATHERINE IN ROME 355

especially with Louis of Anjou, hoping he might come to her help
if need arose. When, however, she saw that she would receive
nothing but humiliation and injury from Pope Urban, she with¬
drew^ the Ambassadors she had sent to Rome and persecuted
Bishop Bozzuto and the other Urbanites in her kingdom. She
sided with Clement once more, at first privately but, as soon as the
General Chapter of the Franciscans, held at Naples on October
ist, 1379, had declared for him, she also publicly proclaimed her
own adherence, and that of her State, to the Clementine cause.

But setting herself thus in opposition to Urban brought much
nearer the fearful threat of an invasion of her kingdom by the
King of Hungary. Aware of this danger and in an attempt to
avert it, the next year, with Clement VII as her mediator, she
recognised Louis d’Anjou as her adopted son, reserving for him all
rights of succession in her realm: those same rights that she had
for so long reserved for Carlo of Durazzo. This expedient was to
lead to most unhappy results, but at the time it gave the Queen a
sense of confidence and security. If she were attacked by the
Hungarians, Louis of Anjou would be obliged to fight for her,
and was powerful enough to be sure of victory. So, thought the
Queen, she could be sure of remaining on the throne of Sicily
during her lifetime.

Catherine, caught up in the net of Papal politics, wished the
Pope to triumph, but, as we have said, her purpose differed from
his. Both worked for the unity of the Church, Urban to satisfy,
at least partially, his thirst for power, Catherine in the hope that
men would draw closer together in concord, fear of God, good¬
ness, love, peace and happiness. She had accepted the war as a
necessary means of defeating the ‘infernal devils’, and she had
rejoiced in the victories won by the Mercenary Companies, only
as necessary preludes to greater spiritual victories in the Church.
She agreed with the Pope’s attempt to detach France from
Clement by means of persuasion and diplomacy, because she
considered the help of France to be indispensable to the Church
in its effort to put an end to the Schism and establish religious unity
in Europe. But she was soon to suffer disappointment, fear and
grief. Her master and disciple, Fra Raimondo, was among the
first to cause her suffering. She had insisted on his being sent again
as Papal Nuncio to Charles V—a delicate and privileged mission

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

35 <>

—but now he wrote to her that he had not even attempted his
task. Once more he had shown himself faint-hearted. He had
certainly understood that his diplomatic gifts were indispensable
in those difficult circumstances, but he had been afraid of the
consequences to himself. He was afraid of responsibilities, afraid
of death. He was a man of little faith. Cadierine was profoundly
troubled as she meditated on the meaning of faith, so closely
united to love. ‘It seems that where there is faith there is love too,
and where love is, there is faith.’ He who has faith is ready to
endure deadi, if the need arise; he whose courage fails him is
without faith. Hence she concluded that there arc Christians
upright in thought and life but not regenerated by the Holy
Spirit. Face to face with this conviction Catherine did not wish to
lay the fault on others but characteristically blamed herself for
the failure of Fra Raimondo’s mission, and wrote to him in such
a way as to show him, through her indirect accusation, how ill he
had behaved. ‘Am I always, because of my faithlessness, to shut
the gates against Divine Providence? Alas! it is indeed so, unless
Thou, O God, of Thy mercy unmake me and make me anew.
Therefore, Lord, unmake me and break the hardness of my heart,
that I may no longer be the clumsy tool that mars Thy work.’

We must be unmade and made anew if we wish to be real
Christians. But Catherine proceeds to widen her target and accuses
not herself only but Fra Raimondo too. ‘And I pray you, dearest
Father, to pray very fervently so that I, together with you, may
be bathed in the Blood of the humble Lamb, which will make us
sturdy and faithful. We shall bum with the fire of divine charity:
we shall be, by His grace, doers, not undoers or spoilers.’ These
last words must have pierced Fra Raimondo’s heart very deeply.
Pondering them, he may have felt a cold sweat break out on his
brow. But Catherine now attacks him mere directly, no longer
associating herself with him in this spiritual disloyalty to God, but
accusing him alone, and somewhat sternly. ‘If you had been faith¬
ful you would not have wavered so much, or felt such fear of
God, and of me.’ Has he realised the injury he has inflicted on the
Church by withdrawing from the mission he has received from
Christ-on-earth ? Out of cowardice he has. ‘found some way of
throwing the burden to the ground’, and impatiently she cries:
‘and if you could not get there upright, you could have gone on

CATHERINE IN ROME 3 57

all fours, and if you could not go as a Friar you could have gone
as a pilgrim, and if you had no money you could have begged
your way’. These are words which indicate an unbendable will,
before which Fra Raimondo must have felt small and puny, and
may even have trembled with shame. Catherine had put great
faith in Fra Raimondo’s mission and had hoped that he might win
France back for Urban. She was discouraged by the failure of her
spiritual father and son, and her hopes fell. She examined her con¬
science for the reasons for such a grave defection, and wondered
if she could be the cause. She searched the innermost depths of her
soul, but could find no fault there; in this matter she was clean
and innocent. If the Church was threatened by disaster the fault
could not be attributed to her. She had done all she could to ward
off the dangers that events seemed to threaten. There was some¬
thing mysterious in all that was happening; she must acknowledge
it and bow her head. Not even her most fervent prayers had had
the power to change the course of events; it was a sign, therefore,
that God willed it so, and we must put all our trust in Him, and
remain tranquil. Our inner peace must on no account be dis¬
turbed. ‘So I tell you that although I wish you had gone, never¬
theless I have set my mind at peace about it, because I am sure
that nothing happens without its own mysterious meaning; and
also because I have satisfied my conscience by doing all I could to
send you to the King of France. May the Holy Spirit now have
mercy on us, for we, for our part, are poor workers/

The Saint was hoping to remodel the worthy Dominican after
her own desire, but she had not realised that natures like Fra
Raimondo’s cannot be changed. It is impossible to make strong
and daring those who naturally fear physical suffering and death.
She had hoped to inspire him with her own heroic spirit, but these
transformations cannot be effected from outside; it is only our own
inner spirit that can change us, only by a supreme effort of our
own will that the impossible can be achieved. Grace itself is
powerless to act on us, against our will. Fra Raimondo was too
peace-loving, too much afraid of suffering and death, to be
capable of heroic energy; he loved God and mankind, but not to
the point of braving dangers that could be avoided; he considered
supreme sacrifices to be futile. Catherine wanted to convince him
of the contrary, and reminded him that our efforts to avoid

358 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

dangers are all in vain because we can never escape them, and in
this connection she quoted to him the example of the Abbot of
Sant’ Antimo, who ‘for fear, and so as not to tempt Providence’,
left Siena and came to Rome, thinking by so doing to flee from
imprisonment and find safety, and he was at once clapped into
prison ‘with that punishment you know of’. This example, how¬
ever, did not suffice to shake Fra Raimondo out of his fear; he
preferred to stay peacefully in Genoa preaching the Crusade
against the Schismatics, rather than to brave: the perils of a journey
and a mission which might end in imprisonment or death.

In spite of this renewed proof of his weakness, Catherine went
on urging him to be manly. ‘Do not be a weak woman when the
moment for action comes.’ But her confident and bright hopes
were doomed to failure; she saw that all her efforts were in vain,
and was plunged into sadness. The reasons for this failure she now
sought and found in her own faulty nature. Many other things
had gone awry for her in those days, and the fault was hers alone
—because of her sins and wickedness. ‘Day and night I have
laboured for God for many purposes, and all of these, because of
the ineptitude of those who were to further them, but chiefly
because of my own iniquities that hinder any good results, have
been in vain’; she sees that although she has consumed so much
of her ardent energy in the effort to transform evil into good, she
has met with no success; she has felt her own will bend in contact
with the hostile realities of life. This grieves her so much that the
whole earth seems to grow dark to her. and life is no longer
worth living: ‘and so alas! we see ourselves overwhelmed, while the
offences against God increase—and I drag on my weary life. May
God in His mercy soon draw me away from this life of darkness.’

Another blow fell upon her when Queen Giovanna of Naples
deserted Urban for the second time. In the last letter which we
quoted Catherine had written to Fra Raimondo: ‘We see in the
kingdom of Naples a worse disaster than that which befell the
former time’. The joy Catherine had fek when the Queen had
returned to the Urbanite camp had changed to apprehension and
fear. The kingdom of Naples exerted great influence in the struggle
with Schism in Italy because by siding with Clement it had, to a
certain extent, neutralised Urban’s victories. This must be
avoided, and Catherine decided to go to Naples, but was pre-

CATHERINE IN ROME

359

vented by the dangers of the journey, either by land or by sea. So
she sent there, in August 1379, her ‘diplomat’ disciple, Neri di
Landoccio, with the Abbot Lisolo, to propagate Urban’s cause,
and, with the piety of their lives and their abundant prayers, ‘to
atone for all the offences they see committed against God’. They
were to try to speak to the Queen also, and to convince her that
the Schism was an impiety. Catherine wrote directly to the Queen,
a letter distilled from her tears, a supreme effort of persuasion. She
tried to break Giovanna’s heart so that she might offer it, in
sacrifice, to God. Catherine loved Giovanna. She had never met
her but she had carried on an eager interchange of letters with her.
The last missive she had received from the Queen had been par¬
ticularly welcome, because it had announced her abandonment
of the anti-Pope and her return to the Urbanite obedience.
Catherine had accepted this as a divine answer to her own cease¬
less prayers and intercessions. Now, however, she had seen that
the Queen was not sincere and that the Pope was right to distrust
her. Her grief was therefore great. She had nursed some illusions
about Giovanna’s future; she had imagined her taking an impor¬
tant partin the Crusade against the infidels; she had dreamt of her
as the defender of the Church and a loyal friend to herself and to
Urban. This relapse of Giovanna’s into schism was like the clean
cut of a knife that lopped off her desires and hopes. Catherine’s
disconsolate soul was filled with melancholy. Nevertheless, she
never despaired; the light that shone within her soul might
languish and grow pale, but it never flickered out. Her moral
sufferings, her distress for mankind ‘made of the off-scourings of
the earth’, grieved her and caused her pain but could not darken
her lively and confident soul. She was an apostle and so she could
never fail to bear love to all men, and never cease her labours for
the salvation of their souls.

Queen Giovanna was, without doubt, a tremendous sinner, but
none the less she was one of God’s creatures. She had rebelled
against Christ’s Vicar on earth to follow the anti-Christ and his
incarnate devils; but she had a soul that must not be left to damn
itself. However severe the punishment she justly deserved, she
could not be abandoned to herself. She must be sought out, loved,
corrected; in the end Christ would triumph in her soul. So
Catherine wrote to the Queen with a sad heart, but from this

360 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

sadness found a message of love. She did not refer to the punish¬
ment Urban intended to inflict on her—the confiscation of her
kingdom, nor to the negotiations concluded between Urban VI
and the King of Hungary, the other Louis of Anjou, to her injury.
Catherine probably considered that material punishments were
the legitimate consequence of the evil she had done, and therefore
must be accepted reasonably and humbly. They were in the
logical order of things. She wanted to save the Kingdom of
Naples for Urban, and Giovanna’s soul for God. Therefore she
pleaded with the Queen to abandon ‘the darkness of heresy’, and
return to the true Church. Giovanna had been guilty of pride
because she had not recollected herself in prayer and meditation
so as to arrive at the knowledge of her own ‘not being’; nor had
she ever wished to confess to herself that she, like all the rest of
mankind, was but ‘a sack full of stench, offensive on every side’.
Through this lack of serious thought the Queen had been irrever¬
ent towards the Vicar of Christ, and because she had no self-
knowledge she had fallen into ignorance, which makes men like
brutish beasts. But when did a human creature ever wish to be
considered a ‘brutish beast’? Certainly Queen Giovanna would
not wish this. So she must turn to the light, that would be
revealed to her in the ‘cell of self-knowledge’, the only light that
nourishes ‘the beauty and dignity of the soul’. If she wished to be
a real Queen she must robe herself in divine splendour, crown
herself with celestial truth. She must think, moreover, that she had
inalienable duties towards her unhappy subjects, now plunged, as
the sad result of her own conduct, into the misery of civil strife.
‘How is it that your heart does not break’, she asks her, ‘to see
your subjects divided because of you, one choosing the white rose
and another the crimson rose, one holding to the truth and another
to falsehood? Yet your subjects were all alike created from the
pure white rose of the eternal will of God, and re-bom in grace,
in that most ardent crimson rose of Christ’s Blood, in which
Blood we were washed from sin by holy baptism, for God has
ransomed us Christians and gathered us all together in the garden
of Holy Church.’ All creatures are then glorious and subject to
baptism which is the privilege of the Church and may only be
obtained by means of the supreme Pontiff'who holds the keys of
the Blood: Pope Urban VI.

CATHERINE IN ROME 361

According to Catherine, the Queen understood well the
righteousness of Urban’s cause; but it was not enough to know
this, as Giovanna had confessed to her in a letter a short while
back; she must express this knowledge in active co-operation and
obedience. She must answer for her disloyalty to Urban and must
accept the punishment she had deserved; after all, her own
declarations made at the time she abandoned Clement were
enough to condemn her now. There were no excuses, no exten¬
uating circumstances. Catherine could not believe that Giovanna’s
letter to her had been insincere, or her conversion to Urban’s
cause merely feigned. She was too optimistic to imagine that
Giovanna had been employing subterfuge or political cunning in
her dealings with her—therefore this time also she thought she
herself must be the cause of the persistence of evil in the Queen.
For tills reason divine justice was causing her, Catherine, to
suffer; was it not a great grief to know that Giovanna was now an
enemy of the Church? The letter the Queen had sent to her was
undoubtedly sincere, but immediately afterwards her intellect
had been darkened through following the advice of wicked
counsellors and allowing herself to become subject to diabolical
illusions. At present Giovanna was indulging in a false slumber,
from which she must awake to return to the sincerity of heart
that had dictated the letter that had filled Catherine with such
joy. She must decide at once, however, and not let other harmful
days go by, for time passes never to return. ‘Sweetest mother,
for the love of Christ Crucified, be sweet to me and not bitter;
return to your own self and slumber no longer in this sleep of
falsehood, but arouse yourself in the little time that is left to you.
Do not wait on time, for it will not wait on you.’ Her prayer
becomes more eloquent: ‘Acknowledge the great goodness of
God and His mercy towards you, embrace virtue, return to
Urban VI who will welcome you as a daughter. . . . For the love
of Christ Crucified do not linger any more in what is death for
your soul, lest this wretched and scandalous infamy should linger
after your own death. For die death of the body follows hard after
you all the time, after you as after everyone else, and especially
after those who have completed the course of their youth.’

With these words Catherine is trying to prepare the Queen for
death, or rather to receive with resignation a possible command
Y

362 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

from Urban VI to withdraw to a convent to live a life of penance.
She would have had to obey such an order at once, and therefore
it was necessary for her, from now onwards, to convince herself
that she had done great harm to the Church, harm for which she
could make reparation only by placing herself wholly in the hands
of the Pope of Rome. The Saint knew that, virtually, Giovanna
had already been deposed, and it is almost as if she wished to
surround her with the warmest affection, so that she might still
feel a Queen, but in the inner realm of the: spirit.

The year 1379 brought another grief to Catherine, a sorrow
more circumscribed than those we have been considering, but
nevertheless most poignant, caused by the sad end of Giannozzo
Sacchetti. Giannozzo had felt a poet’s enthusiasm for the saintly
Catherine, a sincere but passing love; Catherine instead loved him
like a dear son. She hoped she had converted him finally, and
enlightened his dark soul; but Giannozzo soon forgot the teaching,
counsels, prayers and love of his ‘little Mo :hcr’ and let himself be
dragged into politics, which led him later on into a disastrous
quagmire. He may often have remembered the peace he had felt
when in spiritual communion with the saint, but his will was not
strong enough for him to be a faithful disciple. He was exiled from
Florence and joined die Hungarian army in the siege of Treviso;
then he got involved in the preparation of a plot against the
Florentine government, for which purpose he returned to
Florence. There he was denounced, discovered, arrested and tried,
and on October 18th, 1379, he was executed. He had already been
arrested in the previous April in Florence, we are told for debt,
and had been imprisoned in the gaol called the ‘Stinche’. Catherine
had heard of this and been distressed for him. She wrote to
Francesco di Pipino, who had been to visit him in prison, to thank
him for his kind action, and ordered him never to abandon
Giannozzo, but to help him to the extent of his power. She
begged him also to give a message to her unhappy friend: ‘Tell
him from me that he must be a good knight, now that God has
set him in the field, and his weapon must be true patience, humbly
bowing his head to the sweet will of Gcd\ She thought he had
been wrongly accused, and defended him. Perhaps she was right in
considering him innocent; in fact, shortly afterwards he was
released. Catherine had promised to write to him directly, but we

CATHERINE IN ROME 363

do not know whether she did this, hi any case, Giannozzo’s sad
fate could no longer be averted, and the Saint’s spirit could exer¬
cise no further influence over him, nor hold him back from the
abyss into which he was falling.

Little by little Catherine’s political activity decreased as she
concentrated all her energy in her religious life. Fawtier exag¬
gerated when he asserted that ‘during 1379 and 1380 her pre¬
occupations became strictly religious, as if, feeling her end
approaching, she was beginning to detach herself from the things
of this world’. We have seen that for Catherine politics could not
be considered apart from religion, and therefore a truly religious
person had to be politically minded also, though naturally the
converse was not true. Towards the end of 1379 we begin to
notice, in her surviving letters, a diminution of political interest,
not due, however, to the thought of her approaching end, but
more probably because the political ideas she defended no longer
aroused a lively interest in her circle.

Once Clement VII had established himself in Avignon and had
the support of France, it was no longer possible to foresee an early
end to the Schism. Urban VI became more and more intolerant
and autocratic. He gladly received Catherine in frequent audi¬
ences, but used her only for political missions of minor impor¬
tance. The Queen of Naples, even after receiving Catherine’s
latest appeal, gave no sign of having repented her relapse into
schism. The kingdom of Naples seemed likely to become the
scene of cruel warfare between the French, led by the Duke of
Anjou, and the Hungarians, led by Carlo of Durazzo. Here and
there in Italy and in other parts of Europe the war dragged on.
Almost all thought of a future Crusade had vanished, and the
Curia of Rome was busy challenging the Curia of Avignon, both
sides bolstering up their causes not only with denunciations,
accusations, excommunications and threats, but with any other
violent means they could find, as if the Church were a courtesan
disputed between rival contendants. The judgment pronounced
by the monks of Saint Denys was crude but true: Clementines
and Urbanites, ‘aflame with passion, tried to rob each other of
possession of the Church as if they had found her in a bawdy
house’. In such an atmosphere of strife no wonder the morality
of the clergy became corrupt, and the faithful, bewildered and

364 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

disgusted, grew indifferent or sceptical. Such great fissures
appeared in the fabric of the Church that men feared it might
crash to the ground. Even the Dominican Order, which had
remained compact since its foundation, became divided and
enfeebled, showing signs of decadence, after the Master General of
the Order, Elia of Toulouse, had transferred his allegiance to
Clement. Catherine’s plan of instituting in Rome a Council of
pious and holy men to guide the Church and the Pope seemed to
have failed in its purpose. In such a state of chaos what could
Catherine do? To whom could she turn for help for the reform
she so much desired ?

Today we can see that these painful and inconclusive ordeals
through which the Church was passing served to renew its
strength. This grave crisis was needed to teach it to adapt itself
to the new political principles of European States; but Catherine
could not foresee this or realise that the Schism had its own pro¬
found reasons, inasmuch as it helped men to be more conscious
of eternal religious values, and better able to distinguish them
from power proceeding from mere territorial possession or indi¬
vidual supremacy. Did the Schism not compel the faithful to
desire a pure and disinterested Church? In this way, even in its
apparent negations, it contributed to the process of the Church’s
evolution. If Catherine had been able to foresee its historical con¬
sequences she would have ceased from her efforts to propagate the
cause of Urban VI, and she would have directed all her energies
towards her own salvation and that of her fellows. But her ideas
were those of the Middle Ages, in which she lived. Her judgments
on contemporary events were related to the immediate conse¬
quences that might be expected to derive from them, and as in
that moment the Church appeared to be on the brink of ruin, her
suffering was acute.

She was certainly aware of the general collapse at the end of the
fourteenth century in Rome and most of Italy; she wished to
check it, and for her the only remedy seemed to He in the re¬
acquired unity of the Church. This unity, which was to heal the
world’s wounds, was the constant theme of her sermons; she
never ceased to proclaim Urban VI as sole Vicar of Christ, without
whom there would be no peace or happiness among men.

This theme runs through all the letters she wrote in 1379, and

CATHERINE IN ROME 365

inspired all die political activity entrusted to her by the Pope. It
may seem to us of very limited scope, but how could it have been
otherwise? Where could Catherine have found other vital ideas,
or essential elements for political propaganda? For her Urban’s
legitimacy signified the unity of the Church: hence her enthusi¬
asm. She grafted an institutional concept of external and transient
character on to her religious faith, so that it acquired the golden
reflections of her own fervour.

Fawtier, reflecting on the significance of the Orations Catherine
composed in 1379, concludes with the assertion that the Saint,
disillusioned by the conduct of men, was appealing to God to have
mercy on mankind that seemed to have no conscience. ‘These
prayers give us important indications of Catherine’s state of mind
during her last years, while she was in Rome and could judge at
their true worth those to whose cause she had dedicated herself.
Does the frequency of these prayers indicate an unfavourable
verdict? Are we to believe that the spectacle of human weaknesses
had led her, more than in former years, to set all her hope of
success, particularly in Church reform, in God alone?’ The
Orations, to which Fawtier refers, belong mostly to February and
March of 1379, but surely we are not to believe that it was only
during those months that Catherine felt the need to entrust to
God alone the destinies of His Church? Her state of mind in 1379,
as we infer it from her Orations, had not changed since she wrote
the ‘Dialogue’. Do we not find in the ‘Dialogue’, even more
than in the Orations, the expression of her need to confide the
course of all human events to God’s hands, because men seemed
incapable of constructive skill? We must always remember that
Catherine was above all a Religious, and so the sense of the divine
predominated in her. Nor should it be forgotten that the pessi¬
mism, which rises in her soul at the sight of men’s vile actions, is
never absolute, just as it is never absolute in any Christian; she
dominates it by virtue of her inborn certainty that souls can and
must be saved at all costs; this comes to pass through the will and
power of God, certainly, but also through the operation of men.
In an Oration dated February 20th, 1379, turning to God to give
Him thanks, she says: ‘Thou hast deigned to choose me for this
work’, that is, so that through the labour of God’s servants, ‘a
wall may be built to prop up Holy Church’. Her faith in her own

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

366

labours, and consequently in those of odiers too, remained strong,
and she was always eager to act for the good of men. She was a
social apostle, par excellence , and therefore thought it was her duty
to spend her last energies for the salvation of the Church and its
reform; it mattered little whether she met with disappointment.

Therefore, if Catherine’s political activity was more limited
towards the end of 1379, the reason is not to be found in the
unfavourable judgment she is obliged to formulate about the
men for whom she is fighting and hoping for victory; but in die
fact that she had no other thesis to put for ward but that of the
legitimacy of Pope Urban, in whose cause all sacrifices must be
made. His triumph was to lead to the unity of the Church, and
thence to a general confession of faith in Christ which would bind
all men as brothers; only thus could they arrive at the reign of
peace and universal well-being on earth; a heavenly prelude to the
other Heaven, to be enjoyed after the death of the body.

The unity of the Church, for Catherine, was a supreme aim that
justified and legitimised even war, which she otherwise condemns.
The letter she wrote to Louis I, King of Hungary and Poland, is a
proof of this. In it she begs the King to come down swiftly into
Southern Italy, to fight for Urban against the Schismatics. She
almost commands him to abandon any other war, however
important it may seem to him. ‘You must make peace with all
your other enemies’, she says, because enmity and warfare are
atrocious things and keep men far removed from virtue and love;
instead, war against the enemies of the Church is holy, being the
fruit of love for Christ. It may be that the political content of this
letter was suggested to her by the Pope, as the following passage
suggests: ‘Have pity on our Father, Pope Urban VI, who watches
with great sadness his little sheep being borne away by the infernal
wolf. It is true he finds his only consolation in his Creator, for he
has set his hope and faith in Him alone. And he still hopes that
God will inspire you to take up this burden [the war against
Giovanna of Naples] for the honour of God and of Holy Church.’
The conception of a holy war to convert and unify men—a con¬
ception that struck deep roots in Christianity—reappears in
Catherine and is ardently defended.

Today we deplore any war not waged to defend a nation’s
natural boundaries, but Catherine deplored every war that was

CATHERINE IN ROME 367

not to defend the ideal boundaries of the Church. As the Church
stands for order, unity and love, whoever introduces disorder,
confusion, division and hatred is an enemy of the Church and
therefore to be eliminated. If this enemy is an entire people, or a
strong ruler, then recourse must be had to a just war, to restore
the peace and unity of Christendom. ‘The whole world is tom
asunder; it is running on the road to Hell, and no one can stop it’,
she wrote to Louis of Hungary, who had fought for the Crusades
and was a powerful supporter of Urban VI. She appealed to him
anxiously to fight for Christ and His Vicar, and in this way to
reduce, at least partially, the division that was ruining the Church.
He must come, and speedily: ‘But I beg you to come, and to
delay no longer’.

Catherine was impatient, and so was Pope Urban VI. The King
of Hungary’s army was about to arrive at Treviso, where it was
to join the Genoese and Francesco da Carrara in fighting Venice;
but such a war might drag on for a long time, and in the mean¬
time the Schismatics would have time to reinforce themselves,
while the Hungarian army was growing weaker; afterwards,
what would happen? The Pope feared for his pontificate,
Catherine for the future peace of the world. Her appeal became
more urgent. Who supported the Schism except Clement VII and
Queen Giovanna? It was therefore an imperative duty to over¬
throw these two leaders: ‘and will you permit the anti-Christ,
the limb of Satan, and a mere woman to overthrow all our faith
in darkness and confusion?’ She added: ‘And if you and the other
leaders who have the power, do not act now with energy and
diligence, you will be ashamed of this before God, and severely
rebuked for the negligence and lukewarmness of your hearts’.

Catherine’s ingenuousness, in spite of the warmth of her appeal,
must have amused Louis of Hungary if he read her letter. It
seemed to her a most natural thing for the King to break off his
war against Venice, simply declaring that henceforward he con¬
sidered himself to be a friend of the Serenissima Republic, because
he was resolved to undertake none but just wars, that is, wars
against enemies of the Church. What consequences would such a
declaration have had beyond arousing discontent and rancour
among his allies, who would have proceeded with their war
against Venice without his aid? But Catherine was sure that once

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

368

the King of Hungary had conquered the kingdom of Naples
peace would once more descend, at least in Italy, and the unity
of the Church, her constant aim, would be achieved. Her hopes
shone even brighter: as soon as Queen Giovanna heard that Louis
was marching his army towards Naples she would at once return
to her loyalty to Urban. So there would be no battles, no deeds
of violence. ‘Much good will result from your coming’, she wrote
to the King; ‘perhaps this truth will triumph without the need for
human intervention, and this poor little Queen will turn from
her obstinacy, cither for fear or for love.’ A complicated political
and religious problem could hardly be solved with more sim¬
plicity ! But the solution, in spite of its attractions, remained but a
Utopian dream.

In support of Urban’s campaign against Queen Giovanna,
Catherine wrote also to Messer Carlo of Durazzo, the general
commanding the Hungarian troops in the war against Venice.
Some historians have been amazed to see the Saint begging help
for the Church from a man so depraved in feeling and conduct,
but it must not be forgotten that Catherine was in the Pope’s
service, and he must certainly have done all he could, personally
or through his Curia, to persuade Catherine that excellent and
lasting good may be achieved even by evil means.

Carlo of Durazzo, called also Messer Carlo della Pace, belonged,
like the King of Hungary and the Queen of Naples, to the Ange¬
vin dynasty. He had been brought up at Giovanna’s Court and
had married her niece Margarita. He was intelligent, fond of the
sciences and of poetry, and full of ambition, longing to have a
kingdom of his own. The Queen of Naples was fond of him and
treated him with royal generosity, even declaring him, while he
was still at her Court, the heir to her throne. He was shrewd but
dishonest, and has remained famous for Iris ingratitude and
cruelty. Among the many public and private deeds that sullied his
name the most execrable was this war he undertook against his
former protectress and benefactress, and, most infamous of all,
his responsibility for her assassination. Gardner is right in affirming
that no excuse can be found for the conduct of this wretched man
who was rich, powerful and in favour with the King of Hungary,
and might therefore have been expected to control the ambition
which led him to stain himself so shamefully. Nor is it possible

CATHERINE IN ROME 3^9

to justify Urban VI for having made use of this unprincipled man
for his own purpose, urging him to possess himself of the kingdom
of Naples and even crowning him as King.

Catherine wrote to him to beg him to hasten down into Italy
to fight the Schismatics, using words like those she had used in
her appeal to Louis of Hungary: ‘Come speedily, and do not
delay, for God will be with you. There is no time to wait, for
delay is dangerous. Then come and hide yourself in the ark of
Holy Church, under the wing of your Father Urban VI, who
holds the keys of Christ’s Blood.’ Why was he to ‘hide’ in the ark
of Holy Church and place himself under the Pope’s protection?
Was Messer Carlo not himself coming to defend the Pope and
the Church? But Catherine knew of his depraved life, and there¬
fore she wished him to submit to a seven-fold process of purifica¬
tion before he became the Church’s paladin. It would have been
impossible to accuse the Schismatics of licentious life if men of
impure morals were to be employed in Urban’s cause. Therefore
almost the whole of her letter to Carlo of Durazzo is a sermon
with a purifying purpose—a very long sermon because Catherine
finds it difficult to arrive at the main theme of her letter and
invitation. Warnings follow warnings, with repeated reflections
on the necessity of having a pure soul, almost as if the Saint could
not find words powerful enough to convince her correspondent
of sin, and cleanse his soul to make it more worthy of the task to
which he had been called. In certain points the letter is a real, if
veiled, act of accusation. The ‘wicked pleasures’, the ‘slime of
filth’, the ‘perverse law that binds our members’, the ‘degrading
thought’ are deliberately mentioned, so that Carlo may see his
own darkened soul, as in a glass. She quotes historical and moral
examples to jolt his conscience, speaks of the vices and virtues, and
tries to make them real to him. Her reflections on Christian
nobility are intended to make him give up his dissipated way of
life and rebuild for himself another, all purity and love. After
such a wealth of meditations and reflections she thinks she has
prepared the ground sufficiently for the conversion of Carlo della
Pace, and so she writes to him: ‘God has chosen you to support
Holy Church, so that you may be an instrument for rooting out
heresy, confounding falsehood, and exalting the truth, dissolving
the darkness and revealing the light of Pope Urban .

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

370

One wonders whether Catherine really thought that her words
would act like purifying fire on Carlo of Durazzo, destroying the
seed of corruption in liis soul. It is quite possible diat she believed
that, after reading her letter, he would eagerly follow her advice,
and so make himself worthy of the undertaking which she con¬
fided to him, for she was an irrepressible optimist and always
expected the best from everyone. Her desire to see him become
‘a manly knight’ was so great that little by little it transformed
itself, first into hope, then into certainty. ‘I know you will be
manly’, she tells him, ‘you will try to accomplish God’s will
without any thought for yourself.’ She seems already to enjoy a
foretaste of his conversion, and is sure that her enthusiasm must
make the soldier who reads her words desire to purify himself.
But complete purification does not lie within her power; she can
incite souls to turn to God, and lead them to the altar of repent¬
ance, no further; for complete purification they need the Pope’s
help and his responsibility. With her own fervent faith she can
prepare Carlo for righteousness, but the conclusive act of cleansing
belongs to the Pope alone. If Urban loosens him from his black
sins Carlo may become a manly knight. Urban alone holds the
keys of Christ’s Blood; unless he, the guardian, unlock the treasure
house, there will be no total cleansing. That is why Carlo must
shelter beneath the wing of his Father to receive full absolution
and salvation. Catherine entrusts the conscience of the Condottiero
of the Hungarians to Urban, who is to become responsible for his
purity of intentions. Can we really blame her for her misplaced
trust in Messer della Pace, who came to fight Giovanna of Naples,
not for the Church’s benefit or glory but to satisfy his own
ambition and lust for power? After defeating the militia of Otto
of Brunswick he took Queen Giovanna prisoner and had her
strangled. This crime casts an ugly shadow over him and, we must
admit, also over those who invited him to fight the Queen. Yet
Catherine had no part in these shameful events, for although she
also appealed to him to take up arms against Giovanna she did so
very unwillingly, and chiefly to satisfy the wish of the Pope, to
whom after all, as we have seen, she entrusted the final purification
of the Angevin’s intentions. If Urban did not take any pains to
cleanse Carlo’s conscience, Catherine cannot be held responsible,
and the reproach must be cast at the Pope himself, who welcomed

CATHERINE IN ROME 37 1

Carlo with praises and festive rejoicing, exculpating and blessing
him and finally crowning him King of Apulia, that is, of Naples.

Her interview with the Pope, her attendance at various offices
of the Curia to ask for news and instructions and to beg for
Indulgences for her friends and disciples, took up a great deal of
Catherine’s time and wearied her. In her own house there was a
continual coming and going of foreigners, sight-seers, admirers,
disciples and friends, especially those who came from Siena, whom
she helped and consoled in many ways. All could be guests at her
table, and food had to be found for all by sending her fellow
Tcrtiaries to beg alms in the streets of Rome, or by going herself
to do so. Then there was the time she spent at Mass and after her
Communion, the time passed in private prayer, meditation and
ecstasy, in visiting churches and attending services, in speaking of
sacred subjects with theologians and ascetics, and the many hours
spent in charitable work of all kinds, dictating letters, receiving
the visits of petitioners for spiritual or material gifts, and advising
her disciples—all this is but a slight idea of her laborious and
exhausting days. Because of her so many preoccupations she had
to neglect a little her distant disciples. She would have liked to
have all her Caterinati, particularly her Sienese followers, in
Rome, united around herself, to cheer them with her smile,
preach to them her fiery sermons, and inspire them with the
longing for perfection, joy and heavenly bliss. Not being able to
do this, she followed them in thought, offering them constantly
to God, and procured for them Indulgences to help them to keep
their souls on the spiritual heights. She had perforce to reduce her
epistolary correspondence; perhaps she thought she had already
infused into her disciples enough fire of charity to keep them united
with her in thought and prayer, and bound to each other too,
were it but to honour her and conform to the spirit that animated
her. This was the hope of a Saint and a Saint’s illusion. Her
Sienese disciples felt forsaken as soon as they were left alone, and
soon dispersed. Cristoforo Guidini was already writing to his
friend Pagliaresi on January 14th, 1379: ‘Tell our little Mother
that we are all fallen apart; she must give us some rule which, out
of respect for her, we can obey, and which may gather us together
in memory of her, and she must write to us sometimes, remem¬
bering her little lost sheep—although, to be sure, we know that

37 2 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

she remembers us constantly in her prayers’. Her disciples were
sure that Catherine prayed for them, but they were incapable of
that effort of inner concentration which would have made them
feel her alive and still near to them; they did not vibrate with the
same feelings and thoughts that made her a friend of God; they
were still children in the ways of the spirit. The notary Guidini
confessed with sorrow that the Caterinati were all dispersed less
than two months after Catherine’s departure, and he had reason
to be sorrowful, for it was a proof that they had never learnt
through self-knowledge, but always needed to be advised, ruled
and inspired by her. Begging their Mother to call them together
once more and remember her little lost sheep, they showed that
in spite of their love for Catherine and their longing to have her
always near them, they had never assimilated her spirit.

When Neri di Landoccio gave his friend Guidini’s message to
their Mother Catherine must have felt some disappointment at
receiving tliis proof of her failure to infuse into her disciples the
love that would have held them together. After all her teaching
and all the streams of spiritual light she had poured over them,
she still found them fleshly-minded, as St Paul would have said.
It was not a consoling result, but it is the destiny of nearly all men
to remain such disciples all their lives. Very few can create their
own intimate life of the soul, in which they may reach the freedom
that permits them to share in the universal communion. Most
men never find themselves, and even when taught to do so they
never succeed in freeing themselves of the bonds of the senses, but
demand rules, methods, guides—are constantly in need of masters
and pastors. When these fail them they lose heart, and despair.
Catherine understood her children’s spiritual weakness, and per¬
haps it was after receiving Guidini’s sad and affectionate appeal
that she wrote to Maconi: ‘Comfort all those children of mine,
and tell them, one and all, that they must forgive me if I do not
write, because it is very difficult for me just now’. She always
hoped for support from her disciples, and during 1379, when she
needed their help in enterprises very near to her, she saw how half¬
heartedly or unwillingly they answered her call. On December
9th, 1379, she gave Maconi an important charge, and revealed
how well she knew her disciples’ weakness when she told him:
‘Be fervent in this work, and not lukewarm, and spur on your

CATHERINE IN ROME 373

elder brothers of the Company to do all they can in this matter I
am writing to you about. If you will only be what you ought to
be, you will set fire to all Italy, not only just where you are/ But
she alone possessed this spiritual fire, and although she knew how
to kindle it in the consciences of her disciples they did not learn
how to fan it to a flame in their hearts, so as to diffuse it in Siena
and the rest of Italy.

Although it was very difficult for Catherine, during her stay in
Rome, to write letters to her disciples, we have nevertheless a
considerable number dictated during 1379. Some are short notes,
reminders, messages, announcements, reproofs or warnings; others
are detailed spiritual instructions, analyses of Christian living,
reflections on the love of God, or on intellectual light, and some
letters are like tracts on asceticism or mysticism, vivified by per¬
sonal experience. If we except half-a-dozen of these letters, sent
to friends in Milan, Genoa, Padua, Venice, Orvieto and Toscanclla,
the others are addressed, for the most part, to the Catcrinati in
Siena, Florence and Naples. Her correspondents were not numer¬
ous. In Siena was Maconi, in Florence Francesco di Pipino and his
wife; in Naples she wrote to several people because she wanted
all her faithful to try to influence the conscience of the Queen and
people of Naples in Urban’s favour.

Catherine’s religious personality is revealed in these letters of
1379 as substantially the same as that revealed in her‘Dialogue’,
though it does not stand out in such bold relief. The letters show
no loftier flights and no more intimate knowledge of the human
heart. They are more highly coloured and more personal, but
less intense and thoughtful than the ‘Dialogue’. In the latter we
find abstractions which some critics, we think mistakenly, con¬
sider weaken the force of her spiritual inspiration, whereas in her
letters it is feeling that predominates, and overpowers us. If one
were to compare the ‘Dialogue’ and the spiritual letters to two
different kinds of landscape, one could say that her letters have
the hot vibrant colours of a southern scene, which fills us with
instant joy. Everything stands out clearly: the varied colours of
earth, trees, crops, herbs, flowers, people and mountains are all as
distinct as if they issued fresh from the artist’s hand; there is a
vigorous vitality in the shades, the curving lines, the perspective.
Life could not be presented with greater spontaneity and exuber-

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

374

ance; our eyes are dazzled by such a radiant, spacious and joyous
vision: we arc enraptured.

The ‘Dialogue’, instead, is rather like those grey, subdued land¬
scapes which, because they are the fruit of a profound and
meditative creative art, seem remote from actual life. At first sight
they baffle our searching glance; we must observe them very
attentively to discern their vital warmth. These landscapes with
their hues of greenish grey, pearly violet, silvery rose and faded
yellow may be persuaded to yield up to us a wide range of
colours and to reveal a profound creative sense; nevertheless, most
onlookers will prefer scenes that present more vivid colours and
contours with less mystery. Hence most readers prefer Catherine’s
devout letters to her ‘Dialogue’, because the latter requires a great
effort to be understood.

Certainly, the letters are full of human appeal, for Catherine
was writing in an attempt to form real Christians; she urges men
to love, shows the way to purity of conscience, to the divine light
in which the soul must bathe itself, to happiness. She neglects no
detail of healthy living, and it would be easy to extract from the
letters a manual of wisdom more vital than the philosophy of the
Stoics, more lofty than that of the Platonists, for, although less
closely and profoundly reasoned than these, it is more loving and
all-embracing. In these letters of 1379 the usual themes recur:
self-knowledge and the knowledge of God; the three enemies of
man that must be overcome: the world, the flesh and the devil;
men must shun vice and pursue virtue; they must be just and
enforce justice in others; they must bathe in the Blood of Christ;
practise charity; kindle the fire of divine love; be humble, faithful
and pure; seek perfection; read in Christ as in a book wherein all
wisdom is to be foimd; despise wealth; suffer with others; yearn
with love for others; soar in prayer to God ... all subjects that the
Saint divides and sub-divides, finding ever new elements for con¬
tinuous meditation.

She wanted to see her disciples grow more like herself and so
she poured out for them all the best her heart and mind could
offer. Wherever she passed she touched all hearts with her angelic
smile, and had more power than Dante’s Beatrice to make men
nobler and gentler. Sometimes her words re-echoed the emotion
she felt in her familiar conversations with God, but her disciples

CATHERINE IN ROME 375

did not understand her and wondered at the expression of her
face and voice, which they could not interpret in the language of
the spirit. When she was far away her children eagerly awaited
her letters that soothed their hearts and filled them with heavenly
joy. She did not succeed in giving them her wisdom in the ways
of God, but she inspired them with such faith and veneration that
as soon as she left them they felt lost and even longed for death.

She wrote to some new disciples and friends during the second
half of 1379. They were priests or gentlewomen, or devout simple
Neapolitans. There was the Florentine Bartolomeo Usimbardi
with his wife Orsa, the Carthusian Pietro of Milan, the Venetian
bishop Correr, and, most interesting of all, the Sienese Andrea
Vanni. He was already a painter and politician before he came
under Catherine’s influence. He belonged to the Government of
the Reformers, and held various diplomatic posts under the
Commune of Siena. In 1373, when Gonfaloniere of Justice, he
was sent as Ambassador to Gregory XI in Avignon; in 1376 he
was appointed Rector of the Cathedral Office of Works; in
September and October 1379 he was an elected Captain of the
People. Perhaps through some of his friends among the Catcrinati
such as Cristoforo Guidini, he was brought into contact with the
Saint; we do not know when or why. We know that he became
her friend. Catherine wrote him three letters, presumably during
these two months of office, but these letters tell us nothing of the
time or degree of their friendship. As they have come down to us
they contain only exhortations and advice. We gather only that
Catherine does not treat Vanni with the familiarity she generally
showed to her favourite disciples. She warns and counsels him
affectionately, but her tone is somewhat reserved. She wants him
to be just and devout; she begs him to be humble, to observe the
commandments of God, but she docs not seek to impose her will
on him. ‘And I beg you, dearest son, in your present situation to
be reasonable and just to the humble as well as to the great, to the
poor as to the rich; and give to each one equally his due, according
to holy justice, tempered with mercy.’ And she develops this
theme of justice more amply: ‘to be just with others we must first
be just with ourselves; the many evil happenings in Siena, in
Italy, in the world are all caused by the lack of justice; justice
makes us severe towards diose who sin against it, justice is not out

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

376

for its own ends, or for the advantage of those near and dear, but
for the universal good of all’.

Justice must be accompanied by humility, which is like low-
lying ground in which ‘the tree of life’ is planted. Stormy winds
blow from the heights, devastating all, but on reaching the valley
they become feeble and arc soon spent. Pride, impure thoughts,
offences, mockery and insults are the stormy winds that are power¬
less against a humble soul, for humility is rooted in love and bears
fruits of patience and many other virtues. He who possesses
humility is sheltered from all evil. Andrea Vanni must possess
justice, humility and patience and he will be a strong man. Did
this mean that Catherine considered him weak and inconstant?
Perhaps that is why she wrote: ‘wishing to sec you constant and
persevering in virtues, not like a leaf that turns in the wind’. This
phrase alone is not enough to sketch for us the character of Andrea
Vanni, but it may be accepted as suggesting the truth.

We can form no picture of Andrea from Catherine’s three
letters to him, but he showed his utter devotion to her in painting
her portrait. Art historians, critics and scholars agree in recognising
its authenticity; Fawtier alone denies it. His arguments are subtle
and thoughtful, but neither exhaustive nor convincing. For
example, he ignores the testimony of the ‘Necrologi di San
Domenico di Siena’, in which it is asserted that Gabriele di
Davino Piccolomini was buried on November 12th, 1399, in
the Church (of San Domenico) in the corner near the Chapel of
the Tertiaries, ‘underneath the portrait of the blessed Catherine of
Siena’. This picture is in fact the portrait of the Saint which in
1667 was cut out, by order of the Marquis Ferdinando di Van-
deneinden, and re-set in the Cappella delle Volte, where every¬
one, from that day to this, has been able to admire it.

Fawtier is surely mistaken when, to prove that the portrait is
not Vaimi’s work, he compares it with other works by the same
painter, and particularly with the polyptich in the Church of
Santo Stefano alia Lizza. He will not admit that they are by the
same artist because they do not present identical characteristics;
but this is absurd because the two works are born of totally
different inspirations. The polyptich was made to order, and
although it is grandiose and gives proof of remarkable intellectual
effort, it shows none of that emotion with which the memory of a

CATHERINE IN ROME 377

dearly loved person may enrich a work of art. The portrait of
Catherine is a spontaneous tribute of affection, and therefore has a
spirituality of its own, while the polyptich remains a picture of
more purely external appeal. The difference in origin of these two
pictures explains the coldness and hardness we notice in the
Madonna and Child Jesus of the polyptich, and the softness,
sensitiveness and vibrant warmth we find in the Saint’s portrait.
The picture represents an attentive application of some artistic
canons of Sienese painting of the fourteenth century; the portrait
represents a unique effort on the part of the painter, who wants to
escape from conventional designs to grasp and portray the mys¬
tical atmosphere which surrounded Catherine, and which he had
felt and admired. Therefore it is natural that her portrait should
be lively and show the touch of a loving hand. Moreover,
Fawticr’s artistic canons, by means of which he would like to
demolish all proof of the authenticity of Catherine’s portrait, do
not really stand up to criticism. He asserts that the polyptich is
Vanni’s, and that it has certain qualities in common with the
portrait; then he proceeds to point out the differences. In the
Madonna of the polyptich ‘the face is rounder, the eyes more
open, the lips less full and, finally, the hands quite different in that
the fingers, instead of tapering, are square at the ends, and with an
exaggerated space between each one’. According to Fawtier, then,
Andrea Vanni should have painted Catherine as identical with the
Madonna of the polyptich, even if she was in actual fact different,
or else he should have reproduced Catherine’s portrait as his
Madonna in order to be recognised as the artist responsible for
both. He should have foregone that beauty of half-shut eyes and
drooping glance which he must so often have admired, and we
should not have seen the pupil, half-disclosed, that gazes down¬
wards and yet seems to see worlds far removed, and the gleaming
white of the cornea that draws our attention, outshining the other
whites of her lilies and wimple. All this he should have renounced,
lest anyone should cast a doubt on his authorship. As for her
hands, if Catherine’s were delicate and tapering—and surely
Andrea must often have observed and admired them—why ought
he to have drawn them as short and square? When he painted
Catherine’s portrait he clearly remembered her appearance and
was trying to be faithful to this lively memory, whereas when he
z

37^ MY SERVANT CATHERINE

painted his Madonna he was following a convention and so
observed more closely the instructions of his school.

Like all her disciples, Andrea Vanni had come under Catherine’s
fascinating spell, but instead of showing his devotion in letters full
of fervent and melancholy love, as the others did, he painted her,
after her death, in a fresco which has great pictorial beauty, but
which is, above all, the loving record of his love and an attempt
to represent in the Saint’s figure the elevation of the human spirit
to the point of union with God.

In his portrait Catherine, in queenly humility, seems to partake
of both earth and heaven, and all around her is an atmosphere of
peace. She is not in an ecstasy; she regards the devout woman
disciple, who kneels at her feet, with tenderness and calm; her
half-shut eyes hold the beauty of heaven. Her nose is strongly
formed and contrasts with the sad but loving mouth. The lines of
her profile, when carefully observed, are soft and yielding; the
shadows seem lit from within. The perfect oval of her face is
gentle and sweet and of indescribable beauty. Her expression
changes; sometimes she has a look of mortal weariness, which
gives her the appearance of a mature woman, sometimes her face
is suffused with energy that rises from the depths of her soul and
renews her youth. One might read in her face the experience of
centuries and think she knew the dread secrets of the dark abyss
and the harmony of the heavenly spheres. Desires, too, are there,
but clear and bright hke the sun’s rays.

The folds of her wimple veil a brow accustomed to profound
reasonings that can keep pace with the powerful impulses of her
heart. It is a vast brow, for vast were the thoughts that dwelt there,
which knew of one barrier only, God Himself. Everything else
must be clearly illumined and understood, because for her the
intellect was light.

Here Catherine is as if seen in a vision, yet none the less a
woman of flesh and blood. Flesh and blood like ourselves, because
like us she suffers and loves. Like us she knows enthusiasm and
dejection, but unlike us she knows how to deny herself for the
sake of men, and she loves God above all else. The consolations
she gives are gentle, subtle and suggestive; her will is unbreakable.
She smiles at us rather mournfully, and we are compelled to rise
and follow her.

CATHERINE IN ROME 379

The devoted woman who kneels before her adds to the im¬
pression of her greatness. As she kisses the finger-tips of the Saint’s
right hand she seems to be imploring for herself the miraculous
power that flows from that slender hand. Perhaps Vanni also had
felt tliis devotion and had felt the distance that separates a poor
mortal from a Saint. In the suppliant’s eyes there is a longing for a
better world, the same longing the painter himself had felt when
he had begun to love and follow Catherine.

The artist and mystic had met and understood each other. The
mystic revealed to the artist some of the secrets of God, and the
artist, with his unerring intuition, saw deeply into the Saint’s
heart, and was inspired to portray for future ages and future men
the love and suffering he found there.

Chapter XII
HER DEATH

The events of the last months of 1379 had brought no consolation
to Catherine, and 1380 seemed to promise nothing better. At the
beginning of the year she had a strange new experience. She wrote
to Fra Raimondo da Capua about ‘wonderful divine mysteries
made manifest to me ever since the Circumcision’. Our curiosity
about this is to some extent satisfied by Barduccio Canigiani,
Catherine’s dearest son during these months in Rome. Living
under the same roof, he could hourly observe the effect on her of
these ‘wonderful mysteries’. The letter he wrote to Sister Caterina
Petrobuoni ‘in the convent of San Pietro a Monticclli near Flor¬
ence’ shortly after Catherine’s death is a poem of filial tenderness.
He says that ever since the first day of January, although she had
still preserved her usual robust and healthy appearance, she had
been unable to swallow any food or to drink even a drop of
water, ‘so that she was tormented by a most violent thirst and
such a great inflammation of the throat that it seemed as if she
were breathing out fire’. Barduccio tells us no more, but if we
search for the cause of this physical deterioration we find it in her
state of moral depression. Catherine had believed her efforts were
contributing to ecclesiastical reform and the unity of the Church;
she had hoped to make the world better; but the world had not
changed, or had become even worse than before. The Caterinati
had not formed a compact active group that might have sup¬
ported her in her mission; the enemies of the Church were more
powerful than before; the Urbanite College of Cardinals were,
on the whole, no better than the Clementines; Urban VI lacked
humility and kindness and showed a thirst for power that could
not but perturb Catherine; and he was becoming less and less
willing to listen to her counsels. When she looked beyond the

380

HER DEATH

381

Papal circle she saw that in Europe the peoples were endeavouring
in every possible way to free themselves from the Pope’s author¬
ity; everywhere there was a confusion of ideas and purposes; the
souls of men were bewildered and rebellious; the Church, instead
of progressing towards the unity and universality that Catherine
desired, was more derelict than ever: ‘We see her all forsaken’,
she said, and compared the Bride’s loneliness to that of her Bride¬
groom. Was this the result she had expected, and for which she
had suffered and striven so much? Her work seemed to have
achieved very little. At the beginning of 1380 it was clear to her
that in spite of her excellent intentions and the holiness of her
cause she had not succeeded in turning the course of human events
into the channel she desired. She reflected gravely on the worth¬
lessness of man and his labour. Yet she must have thought: Can
man be considered absolutely worthless? Arc his own efforts not
needed in the work of salvation? How could God save anyone
without man’s help? ‘Thou, O God, dost not save man without
man’s help.’ Man has therefore a positive and necessary value, and
so the Saint can believe, without fear, that she also counts for
something on this earth. This belief inspires her with new courage
and gives her the authority to turn to God saying: ‘Thou hast
made me without my help, but Thou hast not saved me without
my help’. Hence there must be a constant relation between the
creator and the creature, and as creatures arc of some worth,
however little, in God’s eyes, He cannot ignore them. He must
accept their desires and hear their prayers. Catherine’s prayers
now became more imploring. They had always been extremely
fervent, but she had often ended them with ‘this is what I wish’,
showing great confidence in herself and in human strength; now
she set much less store by her own wishes and implored the divine
mercy: ‘Eternal God, my love, I cry to Thee today, to have
mercy on this world’.

In fact, it was only after the failure of various political and
human experiments that she realised the ineffectiveness of her
own will, and began to renounce it. If with her ardent eloquence,
her example and her activity, employed over many years for the
world’s good, she had not succeeded in implanting in men the
Christian ideal, what could she expect to gain in the future by
repeating: ‘this is what I desire’? So little by little she destroyed in

382 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

herself the assertion of her own will—and this was probably the
greatest and most difficult renunciation of her life.

She even began to lose hope of exercising her good influence
over Urban VI. He needed advice and guidance; he was energetic,
believed in the efficacy of the Saints’ intervention, was zealous for
the honour of the Church—but he was so hard, harsh and un¬
approachable that even those who loved him abandoned him. He
made enemies on all sides. What could Catherine do for him
now ? Only pray to God to endow his thoughts and actions with
wisdom. Therefore, on this first day of January, tormented by
physical and moral sufferings, she implored God to protect the
Pope: '“inasmuch as Thou hast given Thy Vicar a manly heart, let
it be softened with Thy holy humility; I shall never cease from
knocking at the door of Thy kindness, my love, begging that
Thou will uplift him. Make manifest in him Thy virtue, so that his
manly heart may ever bum with Thy holy desire, and be tem¬
pered with humility; and may he proceed in his actions with Thy
kindness, charity, purity and wisdom, so that he may draw to
himself the whole world. Give him inner knowledge of Thy
truth, so that he may know himself in himself, as he has been
hitherto, and Thee in himself by Thy grace/

This prayer does not conceal a sorrowful recognition of the
Pope’s lack of love; but it shows that this judgment must not
remain long in her heart, where charity alone must reign. What
better purification can she offer than by giving her own body for
the good of others? The Church has dangerous foes: ‘O God of
supreme mercy, save them; punish their sins in me. Here is my
body which I acknowledge as coming from Thee, and I now offer
it to Thee; may it be as an anvil for Thy beatings, to atone for
their sins.’ This offer implies the willing acceptance of still further
anguish even at this moment when reflections on the decay of the
Church were wringing her heart, and her body was tortured with
suffering of all kinds. She remained in this state of physical pain
and spiritual apprehension for several weeks, during which she
continued actively to work, but with her thoughts concentrating
more and more on one single idea, clear and fixed, the idea that
the Vicar of Christ was about to be abandoned, and opposed, by
all. If this came to pass, would it not spell ruin for the Church?
This fixed idea pierced ever more deeply into her mind and heart

HER DEATH 383

and occupied all her thoughts. She tried to escape it in prayer, but
the idea returned, more insistent, more powerful, more over¬
whelming than before. It gave her no peace; she could bear it no
longer. She tried to shake it off, but the evil power took possession
of her soul and became implacable: ‘The Pope is abandoned, the
Church is doomed’. Catherine was terrified and grief-stricken.
The crisis came on January 29th, when, towards the hour of
Vespers, she fell and rolled on die ground, seized with agonising
pains. She herself says: ‘My heart felt such pain that I tore at my
robe and rent it, staggering about in the chapel as if I were out of
my mind with the anguish. If anyone had held me still I really
think I should have died.’ The terrible convulsions were followed
by hours of complete collapse; but the idea that the Pope had
been abandoned by all obsessed her so much that the next day she
felt obliged to beg Barduccio Canigiani to take her into her cell
to try to write a letter of advice to die Pope, and one to three
Cardinals. After having dictated the first her strength failed her
and she could do no more. Possibly her letter to Urban is No. 370
of Tommaseo’s edition, which treats of themes and counsels that
must have been of supreme importance to her in those days.

Urban’s grave faults of character might be the cause of irre¬
mediable disasters for the Church; therefore it was her duty to
warn him, respectfully and with affection. He was impulsive and
hasty, whereas the affairs of the Church required careful delibera¬
tion ; he was adventurous, whereas the Church needed prudence
and wisdom. A really holy Pope, Catherine told him, must be
prudent and enlightened like Gregory the Great, whom he must
imitate. To make promises, as he did, which he could not main¬
tain, was a mark of irresponsibility and selfishness; he must be ‘a
really holy Pope’ and maintain every promise made: ‘and I
humbly pray you, prudently to aim at promising always only
what you can fully maintain, lest harm, shame and confusion
should ensue’. He must not use harsh words, that intimidate men
and make enemies; he must learn to blow the power of gentle¬
ness, through which people can be indissolubly bound to us. Did
he think that by ill-treating the Romans he would achieve the
supremacy he desired’ Instead, he would spread gloom and hatred
in their hearts, and on the first possible occasion they would rise
against him, causing him much injury and therefore grievous

384 my SERVANT CATHERINE

harm to the Church. She feared this last above all else. A revolt
of the Romans against the Pope would gravely injure the Church
of Rome and, directly or indirectly, would strengthen the Schis¬
matics and their ‘devil’s church’. The Romans must be kept
faithful by all possible means, and therefore she begged Urban:
‘You must also recognise the great need, for yourself and for Holy
Church, to keep this people in obedience and awe of Your
Holiness, for this is the root and principle of our faith’. He must
be friendly with the Bandcrcsi, attend their meetings, interest
himself in their plans, be affectionate and affable with them: he
must ‘prudently bind them with the bond of love’.

These counsels, if they had been accepted, would have spared
Urban VI and the Church grave injury, but Catherine foresaw
that the Pope would ignore her advice, and that evil days would
ensue. The idea that the Pope and the Church might be left
abandoned in a wilderness, and the presentiment that grave events
were impending, threatening ruin for the Church in the near
future, filled her with anguish. Therefore, in spite of her physical
infirmity, she insisted on writing to Urban, hoping with her frank
speech to avert the impending catastrophe. This letter cost her an
indescribable effort, so that as soon as she had dictated it she fell
ill again and had a terrifying vision which seemed to invade her
soul. She saw devils coming from all sides to assail her, with
deafening howls. The vision may have been caused by a feverish
memory of the Schismatics who were for her ‘devils incarnate’;
or, more probably, her whole nervous system, already much
shaken by her fear of disaster for the Church, was still more
affected by the rumours of possible riots of the Romans against
Urban VI. These shocks and agitations gave rise to a vision of such
torturing power that she fell into a dead faint, so that her inti¬
mates, running to her, believed her dead.

But for her this was a sublime moment of respite, as if it were a
necessary compensation for the agitation that the diabolical
visions had caused her. She herself described the two conditions
with great precision: ‘And when I had written to Christ-on-earth
I could write no more, such were the pains that racked my body.
And after a little, there came such a terror of devils that I was
deafened and amazed; it was almost as if they were furious with
me, as if I, poor worm, had been the cause of snatching out of

HER DEATH 385

their hands what they had so long possessed in Holy Church. And
the terror was so great, and the bodily pain, that I wanted to flee
from the cell and enter the chapel, as if the cell contained the
reason for my pains. So I arose, and being unable to walk, I leant
on my little son Barduccio. But at once I was thrown down, and
as I fell it seemed to me as if my soul had left my body—not as
when, at other times, my soul had left my body and tasted the
food of the immortals, receiving this supreme food together with
them; this time my soul was like a thing apart because it seemed
no longer to exist in my body. I saw my body as if it had been
some other body lying there. And when my soul saw the anguish
of my companion I wanted to see whether I could control my
body sufficiently to be able to say to him: “Do not fear, little
son”, and I saw that I could move neither my tongue nor any
other member; for it was like a body cut oft from life. So I left
the body lying there, and my intellect was fixed in the abyss of
the Trinity.’

This is a ‘doubling’ such as we have already seen in the‘Dialogue’,
but here it is more emphatic; the spirit not only observes the body
from which it has parted, but would like to move it, make it
speak and act; the attempt is in vain but serves to prove to the
Saint that life belongs absolutely to the spirit. Catherine does not
linger to consider her own body; she abandons it when she finds
it insensible to her desire, and casts herself wholly into union with
the Trinity, in which she finds serenity and perfect bliss, for
therein the torments and the diabolical visions vanish at once;
there is no more agonising suspense or fear; her spirit can soar at
will, and her whole being is enfolded in an infinite peace. The
earth now seems far, very far away; yet she does not lose all
memory of the earth dwellers, and continues to pray for the
salvation of the Church and for her disciples. She seems to be
filled with the Holy Spirit and rejoices; but very soon, in some
mysterious way, she finds herself once more linked to earthly life,
and at once her body begins to breathe again. She has re-entered
the world of suffering and sin; the devils reappear, the terror of
impending disasters wrings her heart anew, and she sighs out her
soul in prayers. From now onwards it is a continual alternation of
divine with diabolical moments: the tortures end in sweetness
which changes again to fearful visions. This continues for forty-

386 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

eight hours, while she lies unconscious. Afterwards, worn out,
she returns to herself. Her disciples, however, hardly recognise
her; on her face is the impress of the other world.

It was probably at this time that Catherine uttered the prayer:
‘O God eternal, O good Master!’ The chief requests in this prayer
are the same as those Catherine utters in her letter of February
15th, sent to Fra Raimondo da Capua; she prays that the Church
may be reformed, protected and victorious, and that her disciples
may be enlightened with wisdom, so as to become more perfect
and remain in union with each other and with her. In the letter
we have also God’s reply, which grants her request. Besides
reassuring her about the future of the Church and of the Caterin-
ati, God declares that even if the Pope is lacking in self-control he
can still discharge the duty of his office; that is, he can sweep out
of the Church the elements that make her impure. Urban’s rough¬
ness and intransigence may even serve this end. Nevertheless, she
feels it her duty to warn the Pope to 'be peaceful and grant peace
to whoever is willing to receive it’. It is for the Cardinals to make
amends for the Pope’s defect, so that ‘they may all unite together
and be like a cloak to cover their father’s faulty behaviour’.

But the thought that Rome was about to rebel against the Pope
returned insistently to Catherine’s mind and made her suffer. On
February 2nd she had a most vivid presentiment of the rebellion,
and soon afterwards, in fact, rioting broke out. We do not know
details about this revolt, because the descriptions we find in
Gobelinus, and later in Raynaldus, are partly derived from Fra
Raimondo’s ‘Legend’, and partly invented. We do not even
know up to what point the worthy Dominican is telling the
truth; he was not present at the insurrection and says he got all his
information from Catherine. But if so, in which letter’ In letter
373 of Tommaseo’s edition, or in another, that has been lost? This
cannot be ascertained precisely but it seems probable that Fra
Raimondo amplified the account Catherine had given him in her
letter of February 15th. Certain sentences in the ‘Legend’, how¬
ever, are very perplexing. Fra Raimondo’s imagination may have
transformed the vision of the devils who filled Catherine’s cell
so that he makes her say: ‘I saw in the spirit the whole city full of
devils’. This is understandable, but he could hardly have written:
the populace openly threatened to put the Pope to death’ unless

HER DEATH

387

he had been informed of this by Catherine herself in a letter which
has not come down to us—for the letter of February 15 th makes
no mention of this. We know that there were riots against Urban
in Rome in February 1380. Catherine asserts this, and it may be
deduced that they were the cause of the change of government
which took place in Rome on March 1st, and which is reported
by Cristoforo da Piacenza. We do not know whether it was a
popular rebellion, or a revolt of the Banderesi against the Pope,
or an insurrection stirred up by the Clementines. Probably some
Roman Clementines may have taken part in the rebellion, but it
was chiefly a popular movement led by the Banderesi. The
Roman people thought they were badly governed—there was,
for example, a scarcity of corn in the city and they had too many
rulers —‘tot capita —and wanted to elect a Tribune instead of the
Banderesi. These latter disagreed with each other and with the
Pope, whose interferences in the government of the city infuriated
them. Urban opposed the people’s intention to elect a Tribune,
and wanted the Banderesi to remain, but to be subordinate to
himself. He quelled the insurrection and then imposed the dic¬
tatorship of two men: Giovanni Cenci, the conqueror of Castel
Sant’Angelo, who was perhaps the candidate supported by
Catherine, and Nuzio Negri, proposed by Cenci. The Pope gave
them full authority to govern Rome; it was a purely nominal
authority because, in actual fact, he allowed the two dictators to
do nothing without his approval.

The revolt was a grave blow for the Saint, although she had
foreseen it. It might mean disaster for the Church; therefore she
must intervene without delay. Although physically exhausted, she
gathered all her energies together to fight in support of Urban VI.
She may even have gone among the rebels to persuade them to
stop threatening Christ’s Vicar. No document attests this, but we
know she had the courage and strength of mind so to do if she
thought it necessary. We do know that she prayed to God with
continual sighs and tears, imploring Him to make peace between
the Pope and the Romans; nor did she cease from praying till she
had the inner certainty that all would end peacefully. On February
15th she wrote: ‘God has placed His healing ointment on their
hearts (the Romans’) and I think that the revolt will end satisfac¬
torily’. The ointment was the fruit of her prayers and of the

388 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

spiritual battle she had fought, the worst she had ever known,
against the devils who wanted to tear her to pieces.

Victory was won for the Church, but what price was Catherine
to pay for it? ‘I was to hear Mass every morning at dawn, which
you know is impossible for me.’ She could no longer walk. But
she added blithely and sturdily: ‘In obedience to God, all is pos¬
sible’. In fact she began to rise every morning at dawn to attend
Mass and receive Holy Communion. ‘After the Communion’,
wrote Barduccio Canigiani, ‘she rose from the ground in such a
state that whoever had seen her would have thought her dead, and
in this condition dragged herself back to her wretched couch. One
or two hours later she rose again and we went to the Church of
San Pietro, although this was more than a mile away, and there
she began to pray, and stayed thus till Vespers, and finally returned
home so worn out that she looked as if she were dead.’

Catherine’s life, from then on, was one long agonising expecta¬
tion. ‘My life is spent, and all poured out for this sweet Bride’ (the
Church). Her task was now to sacrifice herself even more than
before for the sake of her fellows. She was ready to endure any
martyrdom that might further the salvation of the Papacy; she
subdued her body to an incredible extent. Every day she passed
long hours in San Pietro, hours of poignant appeal, of bitter
weeping. God, speaking to her soul immediately after the
diabolical vision, had reassured her about the future of the Church;
nevertheless, her fear still persisted and caused her to multiply her
prayers and sighs. On her daily toilsome walk to San Pietro,
supported by Barduccio Canigiani, she often paused to contem¬
plate a great mosaic by Giotto, set like a symbol of encouragement,
over the facade of the Basilica.

In this mosaic the ‘navicella’, a little ship, floating in a stormy
sea, captivates the observer’s imagination. Catherine, concerned
as she was over the threats to the Church’s existence, found in this
little ship an image that corresponded to her thought—and very
soon there formed in her mind a vision in which she herself and
the little ship and the Church all took part. She pondered over
this vision until the symbols slowly faded and the little ship
became a live thing struggling in stormy seas; it was the Church
of her own times, about to suffer shipwreck. She wanted to save
it, but her strength failed her. Her anguish increased; the little

HER DEATH

389

ship seemed to move towards her; she felt its weight now on her
shoulders, a monstrous weight that grew and grew. Whatever
could she, poor wretched little woman, do to support it? She
wanted to uphold it in some way, at least for a moment, but her
strength was exhausted. She felt weighed down. All her energies,
even her last desperate reserves, were powerless; her efforts were
in vain. She knew she could do no more. Not wishing to fall
under this weight, she tried to resist, at least to remain upright,
but it was useless. The little ship, overburdened with troubles,
became still heavier; her strength was broken; she fell to the
ground, crushed under the unbearable burden, and died.

This melancholy vision warned her of her approaching death,
and shows us how intensely she felt concerned with the future of
the Church. In the long letter she sent to Fra Raimondo da Capua
on February 15th, she had found the strength to make a full report
to the man who was father and son to her, master and disciple,
about the painful and supreme experiences she had undergone
from the first day of the year until the moment she dictated the
letter. We have already recounted these experiences; the letter
contains also some loving advice, and is tinged with wistfulness.
She says: ‘Amid these torments, through my own ingratitude I
am deprived of the comfort of having my spiritual Father with
me.’ If Fra Raimondo had been with her in those moments, how
willingly would she have poured out to him the story of her
ordeals and visions, and with what joy received his words of
understanding and consolation! But he was far away, and she
could only think of him lovingly and write over and over again:
‘Most sweet Father’, as if to express to him all the tenderness of her
motherly heart. As a last instance of her sublime love for him she
gave him advice and a warning. She knew that in the next non-
Schismatic Dominican Chapter, to be held in Bologna, Fra
Raimondo would be elected General of the Order, and she wished
to warn him so that, from now onwards, he might prepare him¬
self to assume his new and grave responsibilities, and^become
capable of bearing with courage all possible future sufferings; She-
knew he was easy-going and timid. He must banish all self-love
and all timidity; he was needed to defend Christ’s cause, and for
this heroism was required. He was also given to talking too much;
she warned him: ‘Be cautious in conversation’, and, the better to

390 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

make him remember this, she repeated: ‘Shun idle and careless
talk; be, and show yourself to be, mature in speech as in all else’.

She wanted him to be a great Christian, a man of prayer, and
compact of all the virtues. Finally, to show him the trust she placed
in him, she chose him to be one of the guardians of her Book, in
which, as we have seen, she had poured forth all the best in
herself. She appointed four guardians of the Book: Fra Raimondo,
Fra Bartolomeo Dominici, Fra Tommaso della Fonte, and Fra
Giovanni Terzo, the earliest, the wisest and the most loved of her
confessors and teachers. This proves the importance she attached
to the ‘Dialogue’, and her conviction that it was worthy to be pre¬
served, read, approved and divulged by experienced theologians.

Then her thoughts turned to her Caterinati. She had already
presented and recommended them to God, begging Him to
protect them, but, apart from this divine help, they needed on
earth someone to keep them united, to encourage them in
affliction, to advise them, and from time to time to revive their
faith and love. Who could do this better than Fra Raimondo? ‘I
beg you also, to be a father and ruler of this Family, in so far as
lies in your power, and as a father to keep them in charity and
perfect union, so that they may neither be nor remain like little
sheep without a shepherd. And I believe I shall be able to do more
for them and for you, after my death, tlian I could do during my
whole life.’

Catherine feels and knows that her life approaches its end. Her
fastings, sufferings, physical disabilities, terrors and constant tears
and sighs had visibly worn out her body. On February 26th
she lost the use of her legs and was obliged to remain stretched
out 011 a bed that, according to Bartolomeo Dominici, looked like
a tomb. A very narrow straw mattress rested on some boards of
wood that formed the bottom of the bed, and all around, follow¬
ing the outline of her body, were wooden sides, that rose to a
height above the mattress. Inside this Catherine had to lie quite
still, because the slightest change in her position, or attempt to
raise her head, gave her atrocious pain. Even in this enforced
immobility she suffered pain. Yet her eyes remained clear and
serene, and no word of complaint ever issued from her lips;
indeed, when she was in pain ‘from the soles of her feet to the top
of her head’ she was heard to utter passionate thanks to God.

HER DEATH 39 1

Tommaso Petra, Pope Urban’s Secretary and a disciple of
Catherine’s, begged her on March 16th, when her condition
was obviously worsening, to transmit to her disciples a spiritual
testament. At first Catherine hesitated, then, calling her children
and disciples around her, she tried to sum up for them the central
themes of her spiritual teaching, the fruit of her ardent religious
experience, all that might serve to make them more like herself.
It was a sermon which, at least when read in the form in which it
has come down to us today, does not excite our admiration. It
lacks the inner warmth and the spiritual framework of the letters
and the ‘Dialogue’; it is like scattered limbs of a lifeless body. The
reason may easily be understood. She was at that moment speak¬
ing with a great effort and in so faint a voice that many of her
words were inaudible. Her listeners had, later on, to piece
together these broken phrases and hasty notes and attribute to
them a meaning which had to be in accordance with the Saint’s
teaching, or at least with that part of it with which they them¬
selves were most familiar.

This sermon may strike us as somewhat cold and ineffective,
but it must nevertheless have had a great influence over those
disciples who heard it. The expression on Catherine’s face was
sublime, and the silences that separated phrase from phrase and
word from word, and sometimes even syllable from syllable,
must have been fraught with mystery and suspense for her
expectant disciples. The stillness of Catherine’s body gave her an
appearance of hieratic authority; the thought of her approaching
death invested with solemnity her slightest movement and faintest
sound. Love irradiated from her and streamed over her disciples,
exalting them even in their grief. Her sons and daughters watched
with awestruck wonder their Mother’s every act, and her words
acquired supernatural significance because of the joyful emotion
in their hearts.

Although Catherine was now living almost entirely in her own
inner world, she was always delighted when one of her spiritual
sons came to see her. On the evening of March 24th Bartolomeo
Dominici came to Rome from Siena. He had come on business
for the Dominican Order, without knowing of Catherine’s grave
illness. He felt a pang of the heart when he heard of her state, and
grieved to see her reduced to skin and bones, and looking as if,

392 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

physically, she were already a stranger to this world. He went to
her, and anxiously asked her how she felt. After some moments
she seemed to awake from her torpor; she opened her eyes, which
were smiling. She wanted to speak, but could only make a very
slight movement with her lips. Fra Bartolomeo set his ear to her
mouth, the better to hear what she said; the murmur was very
faint, more like breathing than speech. With an effort of attention,
and all his good will, he at last succeeded in understanding some¬
thing; then they were agreed: the next morning would be Easter
Sunday and Fra Bartolomeo would say Mass there, at her bedside,
and Catherine, to her great joy, would receive Holy Communion.

The next day, as had been arranged, Fra Bartolomeo came; he
heard Catherine’s confession as best he could, and gave her
absolution, but he despaired of being able to give her Communion
because of her absolute immobility. But when the moment for
her Communion came, to the astonishment of Fra Bartolomeo
and all who were present at the Mass, the Saint arose from her bed
and walked steadily to the altar. She received the Communion
in two kinds, and was at once rapt in an ecstasy, as had always
happened before. When she came to herself her strength deserted
her and she would have fallen to the ground if her friends had not
caught her and carried her back to her bed, where she returned
to her former immobility.

Shortly afterwards she gave Fra Bartolomeo one more proof of
her strong will. The Friar was bound to return to Siena but did
not want to leave his Mother in that state, and told her so.
Catherine, in spite of her grief at parting with her great friend,
ordered him to return at once to Siena, where his duties as Prior
awaited him, and where he must also prepare to take his part in
the General Chapter of the Order, soon to be held at Bologna,
where he was to vote for the election of Fra Raimondo as General.
Her order was explicit, and Fra Bartolomeo showed himself
willing to obey on condition that, as he told Catherine, God
would give His consent, that is, would make Catherine visibly
recover her health. The next day, when he went to see her, he
found her ‘merry and bright’ as in times past. Could he have had
a more evident proof of God’s will regarding himself? He set out
at once for Siena.

A few days after Bartolomeo’s departure there came Stefano

HER DEATH 393

Maconi, the disciple whom Catherine had insistently invited to
come to her, and who, for family reasons, had not been able to
leave Siena before. As soon as the Saint saw him her angelic smile
returned, the smile that won all hearts. In those days her longing
to have Maconi with her had been so intense that he had heard her
call, while he was at prayer in the Scala Hospital in Siena. A voice
had said: ‘Go to Rome where your Mother is dying’. He had set
out forthwith, and arrived in time to be with her during her last
days on earth.

Catherine’s body was visibly becoming a skeleton, and all her
strength was gone. She knew the end was very near. The crisis
began about two hours before the dawn of April 29th. Her faith¬
ful gathered around her bed. She begged for absolution from guilt
and punishment, and this was immediately granted. She fell into
a state of torpor during which her only sign of life was ‘a con¬
tinual sad and faint sighing’. It was thought necessary to give her
extreme unction, and the Abbot of Sant’Antimo administered
the holy rite. Shortly afterwards her face began to be clouded over
and she waved her arms about, an evident sign of an inner struggle.
Had she sinister visions, or were the devils returning to attack?
Her disciples watched every gesture in anxious suspense; they
would have wished to know the mysterious cause of her suffering,
to be able to help her, but no word came. Three-quarters of an
hour passed. At last the Saint spoke: ‘Peccavi, Domine, miserere
mei’. She repeated this again and again. ‘And I believe she repeated
this more than sixty times, each time raising her right arm and
then letting it fall, jarring her bed’, Barduccio Canigiani tells us
in his affecting account. Then the formula changed, became:
‘Sancte Deus, miserere mei’, and this too was repeated many times.
What was taking place in her soul? Her disciples still waited in
fear and trembling.

Perhaps she was reviewing all her past life, or perhaps it was
one more fierce struggle with herself? The rapid changes that
could be seen in her features showed some dramatic struggle
within. She may have been tormented by the knowledge of her
failure to reform the Church and to proclaim a new Crusade
against the infidels; she may have been accusing herself of having
desired too much; she may have thought she had often acted for
the sake of self-glorification. According to Raimondo da Capua,
AI

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

394

this last thought was a source of great sadness to Catherine
towards the end of her life, and when she lay dying she was
obsessed by inner voices that accused her of vainglory. She resisted
these voices with all the strength of her soul. At last she cried out
emphatically :‘Never for vainglory, always for the true glory and
praise of God’. This was like the trumpet cry of conclusive victory.
Her weeping ceased and her face became serene. Her eyes, that
had been dimmed with tears, became lively and clear once more.
The marks of the battle she had fought were smoothed away. All
her children around her felt their hearts rejoice: she was their
Mother once more, serene even in sadness, transparent of face and
thought even in her sorrows.

Alessia, her faithful fellow Tertiary and friend, who was holding
the Saint’s head in her lap, now helped her to raise herself to a
sitting posture, leaning back in her arms. So, surrounded by the
delicate affection and concern of her spiritual children, Catherine
fixed her gaze on a crucifix, in the centre of a little tablet, covered
with relics and images of the Saints, that had been given to her.
Looking at Christ, she uttered a prayer of contrition to the Holy
Trinity. Then she blamed herself for not having sufficiently
accomplished her duty of saving souls, and asked Christ for com¬
plete absolution of sins confessed or forgotten. After having
received plenary absolution a second time, according to the
privileges granted her by Popes Gregory XI and Urban VI, she
prayed again, and spoke, but her disciples could only hear a word
here and there.

Then she turned to those of her children who had not been
there to hear her last sermon, and indicated to them the way they
should follow, after her death. Amongst these was Stcfano
Maconi, and she turned to him, pointing with her finger, saying:
‘I command you in God’s name, and by virtue of holy obedience,
to enter the Carthusian Order, for God has called and chosen you
for that Order’.

It was her last act. She said some more kind words to Barduccio,
asked for a blessing from her mother Lapa, who knelt down
beside her daughter imploring to be blessed by her, and to receive
grace from her. Then she prayed for the universal Church and
re-affirmed the legitimacy of Urban VI.

All her children around her bed were sobbing with emotion.

HER DEATH

395

The atmosphere was suffused with love. There were moments of
solemn silence and painful anxious suspense. Suddenly the word
‘Blood’ rang out twice in the silence. It was like a stroke of light¬
ning that flashed through the room. Catherine had put into this
word her whole life of love and sacrifice, and while its last
echoes sank into the silence, the Saint’s last breath rose to God.

It was the sixth hour of the Sunday before the Ascension, the
29th April, 1380.

397

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Chief Works of Reference

Chevalier: Repertoire des Sources Historiques du Moyen-Age, Bio-Biblio-
graphie 2° -ed (1905) Vol. I.

Hurter: Nomenclator Litcrarius Theolog. Cathol. Innsbruck (1906) Vol. II.

I. Taurisano: Catalogus Hagiographicus Ord. Praed. Rome (1918) Vol. I.

F. Valli: Rassegna Cateriniana. Giomale Storico della Lett. Ital. (1931) Vol.
XCVII.

See also:

A. Capecelatro: Storia di S. C. da Siena. Siena (1878).

M. H. Laurent: Saggio di Bibliografia Cateriniana. Florence (1940).

Zambrini: Opere Volgari a Stampa dei Secoli XIII e XIV. Bologna (1878).
Potthast: Bibl. Hist. Medii. Acv. Berlin (1896) Vol. II pp. 1238-1240.

L.J. Paetow: Guide to the Study of Mediaeval History. London 1931 pp. 299-
300.

Reviews: Rosario, Memorie Domenicane, Studi Catcriniani, Vie Spirituelle,
Vita Cristiana, Annce Dominicaine, Revue d’Ascctique c de Mystique,
Bullcttino Senese di Storia Patria.

Abbreviations used:

BS

Bullctino Senese di Storia Patria.

MAH

Melanges d’Archeologie et d’Histoire.

HMD

Rosario—Memorie Domenicane.

MD

Memorie Domenicane.

SC

Studi Catcriniani.

VC

Vita Cristiana.

SCS

Santa Caterina da Siena.

AD

Annce Dominicaine.

I

LIFE

(a) Historical Sources.

Laurent and Valli: Fontes Vitae S. Catherinae Senensis Historici (Siena.
Florence. Milan).

Vol. I contains Regoli’s Documenti relativi a S. C. da S. (Siena 1859)
enriched and annotated by Laurent (Siena—Florence 1936).

Anonimo Fiorentino: Miracoli di Caterina di Jacopo de Siena. Chief MSS.
Strozziano XXXI Bibl. Mediceo-Laurenziana, Florence; Riccardiano,
Florence 1267. Publ. Grottanclli 1862; Misciatelli 1921; S.C. 1930. New
editions by Fawtier (1921), Taurisano (2nd ed. 1928), Valli (i 935 > * 936 ) in
Fontes.

398 my servant Catherine

The Lettcre dei Discepoli: Publ. Grottanelli (Bologna 1868). Republ. Misciatelli
(Siena 1925). Reproduced in ‘Lettcre di S. C. da S.\ ed. Marzocco. Flor¬
ence.

The Memorie di Cristofano di Gano: Publ. (in part) Milanesi: Arch: Stor: Ital.
Series I,Vol. IV (Florence 1843). Republ. Taurisano: ‘Fiorctti di S.C. da S.’
Rome 1922.

The Opuscoli Cateriniani of William of Flecte: Publ. Fawticr. Catheriniana.
MAH XXXIV (1916) [contains Documcnto Spiritualc (2 texts); una
predica; una lettera a Raimondo da Capua].

St Catherine's Death: as described in Lettera of‘Ser Barduccio di Piero Canigiani
diretta a Caterina de’ Petrobuoni del monastcro di S. Piero a Monticclli
presso Firenze*. Incomplete in Florentine Strozziano and Riccardiano 1267
MSS.; complete in Venetian edition 1483. Republ. by Gigli and reproduced
by Misciatelli: Lcttere Vol. VI (1925).

Publ. by Taurisano: Transito. Fioretti di S. C. da S. (2nd ed. 1927).
[Translated into English at end of Thorold*s version of the Dialogo.
Bums Oates (London 1925)].

The Processo Castellano: Laurent: Fontes. (Milan 1942). Reproduction of origi¬
nal MS. preserved in Siena in Basilica of S. Domenico, with copious
general bibliography.

The Leggenda Maggiore by Raimondo da Capua. First publ. Cologne 1553.
Included by Bollandisti in Acta Sanctorum: 29th April. Translation by
Neri di Landoccio and Anonimo Piacentino printed at S. Jacopo di Ripoli
1477. Another edition printed in Milan 1489. Most modern Italian
version by Padre Tinagli. Siena 1934.

The Leggenda Mitiore by Tommaso da Siena (commonly called CafFarini).
Latin text publ. Mombridus in Sanctuarium (Re-printed Paris 1910) and
by Fawder MAH (Vol. XXXII (1913) pp. 397-509. Italian version publ.
Grottanelli (Bologna 1868).

The Supplementum by Tommaso da Siena. Latin text not yet edited. Italian
version by Carapclli [Biblioteca of Siena B.VII. II] not yet edited. First
two parts translated into Italian by Tinagli, with preface by Laurent on
Life and Works of Tommaso da Siena.

The Leggenda Abhreviata di S. C. da S. by Antonio della Rocca. Publ. A. Saba
in Aevum Vol. VIII (1934). Republ. with slight modifications, in Fontes
(Siena-Florence 1939).

Tommaso da Siena: Tractatus de Ordine FF. de Paenitentia S. Dominici. Sienese MS.
T. II. 8.

Publ. Laurent in Fontes.

In Appendix is given Regola dell* Ordine della Penitcnza di S. Domenico
drawn up by Munoz de Zamora, translated by Fra Tommaso d’Antonio di
Siena. Sienese MS. B.VII. 5. Publ. Grottanelli (Turin 1864).

I Necrologi di San Domenico in Camporegio. Publ. Laurent in Fontes (Siena—
Florence 1937).

BIBLIOGRAPHY

399

(b) Study of Historical Sources

J. Luchaire: Un manuscrit de la Lcgende de C. de S. MAH (1899) pp. 149-158.
L. Auvray: Les deux versions italiennes de la Lcgende de S. C. de S. Bulletin
Italien X (1910) pp. 1-23.

R. Fawtier: S. C. de S. Essai de critique dcs sources; sources hagiographiques
(Paris 1921).

E. Jordan: La date de naissance de S. C. de S. Analecta Bollandiana XL (1922)

pp. 365-411* . • x

P. Mandonnet: S. C. de S. e la critique historique. A. D. (Jan.-Feb. 1923).

Frati: La Leggenda di S. C. da S. coi disegni attribuiti a Jacopo Bellini. Biblio-
filia (July-September 1923).

I. Taurisano: Fra CafFarini e un codice del Supplementum S.C. I (1924) PP*
76-83.

Pardi: Elenchi di Mantellate Senesi. S.C. II (1925) PP* 43“58*

/. Taurisano: La critica nclle fonti cateriniane S.C. I (1928).

/. Taurisano: Le fonti agiografiche cateriniane e la critica di R. Fawtier. A
lecture publ. in Letturc Cateriniane (Siena 1928) pp. 311-382.

P. Misciatelli: La Regola del Tcrzo Ordinc di S. Domenico e il ruolo deile
Mantellate ncl Trecento. S.C. Ill (1926) pp. 3 5 _< ^5*

E. De Sanctis-Rosmini: Il Processo Castellano. S.C. Ill (1926) pp. 73-101.

E. De Sanctis-Rosmini: Il Supplementum. S.C. V (1928) pp. 20-43.

F. Valli: Due fatti della puerizia di C. da S. S.C. V (1928) pp. 49 - 57 *

F. Valli: L’Infanzia e la puerizia di S. C. da S. Esame critico deile fonti (Siena
I 93 1 )*

F. Valli: La mentalita agiografica del B. Raimondo da Capua. La Diana VIII
( I 933 )-

F. Valli: L’adolesccnza di S. C. Esame critico deile fonti (Siena 1934)*
Seckendorff: Die H. K. von S. und ihr neuestcr Biograph. Historisches Jahrbuch
XLIX (1929) PP* 415 - 443 .

F. Valli: La datazione della ‘Leggenda Major del B. Raimondo da Capua.

S.C. X (1934) PP* 65-82.

G. Cencetti: La Leggenda Maggiore di S. C. da S. e il suo volganzzamento

(Piacenza 1939).

E. Franceschini: La Leggenda Minore di S. C. da S. (Milan 1942).

(c) Biographies

Massimo da Salerno: La Leggenda di S. C. da S.

St Antonino: Vita della Beata Caterina. Cronaca sua (Lyons 1580).

Niccolo di Bartolommeo Borghesi: Vita di S. C. (In Italian, Venice 1501).
Giovanni da Pino: Vita. Tolesano (Bologna 1505).

Giovanni Pio: Vita Catherinae Sen. (Bologna 1515)*

Giovanni di Giffrc de Rehac , O.P.: La vie, les graces et les merveilles de la
seraphique vierge S. C. de S. Publ. in Vite e Azioni memorabili di sante e
beate domenicane. Paris 1635. Publ. separately Paris 1647.

Frigerio: Vita di S. C. da S. (Rome 1646).

Touron: Vita della serafica vergine S. C. da S. Publ. in French at Naples (1764),
in Italian in Siena (1796), 2nd ed. 1806.

MY SERVANT CATHERINE

400

Guerin: Histoire dc S. C. de S. (Paris 1843).

Chavin de Malatt: Vie de S. C. de S. (Paris 1846).

Louis Veuillot: Sur une histoire de S. C. de S. Univers (i8-i9th August, 1947).
A criticism of Chavin dc Malan that Veuillot afterwards published separ¬
ately in Portraits de Saints (Paris 1931).

Montella: Vita di S. C. da S. (Naples 1854), 2nd cd. 1880.

A. Capecelatro: Storia di S. C. da S. e del Papato dei suoi tempi (Naples 1856).

Five eds. before 1886 and translations into several languages.

C. H. Hase: K. von S. (Leipzig 1864). Reprinted 1892.

J. E. Butler: C. of S. (London 1878). Eds. 1879, 1881, 1895.

Comtesse de Flavigny: Vie de S. C. (Paris 1880), 2nd cd. 1895.

M. A. Mignaty: C. de S. Sa vie, son role dans I’ltalie du XIV si£cle (Paris 1886).
Italian translation Florence 1894.

A. Drane: Flistory of S. C. of S. (London 1887), 2nd cd. 1915. Translated into
several languages. Italian translation Siena 1911.

Chirat: S. C. dc S. et TEglise au XlVe si£cle (Paris-Lyons 1888).

G. Ohtii: La vergine Benincasa (Genoa 1891).

Pigorini-Beri: S. C. da S. (Florence 1900).

V. Scudder: S. C. of S. as seen in her Letters. Dent (London 1905).

E. Gardner: S. C. of S. (London 1907). See also his Story of Siena and S. Gemig-
nano (London 1902).

Von Redern: H. K. von S. (3rd ed. 1907).

J . Hoffmiller: H. K. von S. (Munich 1909).

C. M. Antony: St. C. of S. Her life and times (London 1915).

Gauthier: Ste. C. (Paris 1916).

J.Joergensen: Ste. C. (Paris 1919). Italian transl. Turin 1920. Articles referring to
Joergensen’s Life: P. Rossi: S. C. da S. nclP opera dello Jocrgenscn. B.S.
(1922) E. Buonaiuti: La Santa di Siena. Mondo (Feb. 1922) A. Levasti:
S. C. di Joergenscn. Resto del Carlino (September 1921).

R. Fawtier: Essai de critique des sources: sources hagiographiques Vol. I. (Paris
1921).

J. Leclercq: La mystique dc l’apostolat: C. dc S. (Paris-Brussels 1922).

Masseroti: S. C. de S. (Paris 1922). Italian transl. Siena 1925.

Petitot: La formation spirituclle de S. C. dc S. e la preparation h son role
apostolique dans TEglise. [Publ. with Lcjcune. See below].

Lejeune: La vie apostolique de S. C. dc S. Both these studies arc published
together in one volume: S. C. de S. Saint-Maximin (Paris 1923).
Lombardi: La Vita di S. C. S.C. Ill (1925), pp. 59-80.

Bernardy: S. C. da S. (Florence 1926).

Alice Curtayne: St. C. of S. Sliced and Ward. (London 1929).

E. De Sanctis-Rosmini : Vita di S. C. (Turin 1929).

A. Gherardi: Vita e Dottrina di S. C. (1930).

A. Lemontiyer: S. C. de S. (Paris 1934).

A. Levasti: Mistici del *200 e del 300* - Rizzoli. (Milan 1935)

E. Budtwwski: K. von S. (Vcchta 1935).

J . M. Scheller: Die H. K. von S. (Vechta 1935).

BIBLIOGRAPHY 401

A. Herkommer: Die H. K. von S. (Meitingen 1936).

R. Mager: Die H. K. von S. (Vechta 1937).

Suora Maria Scozzi: Fior dell’ italica gente (Turin 1938).

Bitelli: La Santa degli italiani (Tuim 1938).

Lazzerini: S. C. da S. (Milan 1939)*

Monleoti: Un alma de accion catolica: S. C. da S. (Montevideo 1939)-
G. Dolezich: K. von S. Einsicdeln 1941.

L Taurisano: La S. C. da S. L’ambiente storico cateriniano (1941)-
P. Chitninelli: S. C. da S. (Rome 1941).

M. 5 . Gillet: La Mission de S. C. de S. Les Grands Coeurs. Flammarion (Paris
i 946 )*

5 . Attal: L* Angelo della pace. S. C. da S. (Lanciano 1946).

M. Fraignaux: S. C. de S. Mystique e Diplomate. La Colombe (Paris 1950).

(1 d) Details of St. Catherine's Life

I. Her Family

Busitti: La casa di S. C. da S. (Siena 1880).

5 . Mannucci: La famiglia di S. C. da S. R.M.D. XXV (1908).

D. Toncelli: La casa di C. (Rome 1909).

E. Lazzareschi: II colore dei capelli di C. da S. M.D. (1921), pp. 183-190.

M. Sardi: Buonaventura Benincasa. S.C.S. V (1926), pp. 39 “ 43 -

P. Misciatelli: U sepolcro di Jacopo Benincasa in S. Domenico. La Diana III

(1928), pp. 152-44-

M. H. Laurent: Alcune notizie sulla famiglia di C. da S. B.S. VIII (i 937 )» PP-

3<55 “ 374 ' ,

S. Mannucci: L’origine fiorentina di C. M.D. (1940), PP- 291-292.

Lupi: Monna Lapa. S.C.S. (November 1941)* PP- 145-148.

II. St. C. at Pisa and Lucca

Temple-Leader and Marcotti: Giovanni Acuto (Florence 1889).

D. S. Scorzi: C. a Pisa (Pisa 1901).

Zucchelli and Lazzareschi: S. C. e i Pisani. R.M.D. (1916). Publ. separately,
Florence 1917.

I. Taurisano: I domenicani a Pisa R.D. (1927), pp. 211-213.

Guerra: S. C. da S. e i Lucchesi. Ricordi Storici (Lucca 1880).

Lazzareschi: S. C. da S. e i Lucchesi. R.M.D. (Florence 1912).

I. Taurisano: I domenicani in Lucca (Lucca 1914)-

III. The Stigmata

G. Lomhardelli: Sommario dclle dispute a difesa delle sacre stimmate di S. C. da
S. (Siena 1601).

F. Boninsegni: II trionfo delle stigmate di S. C. da S. (Siena 1610).

Zucchelli and Lazzareschi: S. C. da S. e i Pisani (already quoted), pp. 95-107.

402 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

R. Garrigou-Lagrangc: La stimmatizzazione di S. C. da S. V.C. IX (1937),
reprinted in L’Union Mistica in S. C. da S. (Florence 1938).

IV. The Execution of Toldo

Duprd-Theseidcr: II supplizio di Niccolo di Toldo in un nuovo documento
senese B.S. (1935), pp. 162-164.

1 . Taurisano: II supplizio di Niccolo di Toldo c S. C. da S. M.D. (1937), pp. 3-8.
Dondaine: S. C. de S. c Niccolo Toldo. Arch. Frat. Praed. XIX (1949), pp. 169-
207.

V. St. C. and Gregory XI

A. Gherardi: La guerra dei fiorentini con Papa Gregorio XI detta la guerra degli
otto Santi (Florence 1868).

A. Danticr: La vierge de Sienne, Avignon e Rome. Correspondant (25th Sept.,
1887).

J. Kirsch: Die Riickkehr der Papstc Urban V und Gregor XI von Avignon nach
Rom (Paderborn 1898).

L. Mirot: La politique pontificale c le retour du S. Si6gc a Rome. (Paris 1899).

E. Sechendorff: Die kirchcnpolitischc Tatigkeit der H. K. unter Papst Gregor XI

(Berlin 1917).

I. Taurisano: S. C. da S. e Gregorio XI. M.D. (1929), pp. 89-111.

A. Alessandrini: II ritomo dei Papi da Avignone e S. C. da S. Archivio deputa-
zione romana storia patria (1933-1934), pp. 1-132.

Duprd-Theseider: I Papi di Avignone e la questione romana (Florence 1939).

VI. St Catherine's Political Activity

M. Misserini: Dello spirito patrio e coraggio politico di S. C. da S. (Florence

i 8 53 ).

L. Pastor: Storia dei Papi I (Rome 1910), pp. 95-100, 114, 120, 124.

P. Misciatelli: Caterina Bcnincasa: l’attivita politica. Mistici senesi (Siena 1913),
pp. 132-161.

P. Jean Massaux: St C. de Sienne. Riformatricc e Diplomate. Veritas. (Ghent
1921).

H. Montesi-Festa: C. da S. e Giovanna d’Anjou. S.C. (1924), pp. 89-112.
Boncompagni: II Papato e Pltalia in S. C. da S. (Rome 1925).

P. Misciatelli: La romanita di S. C. da S. S.C. Ill (1926), pp. 15-21.

P. Rossi: 11 sentimento di patria nelP opera di S. C. da S. Letture Cateriniane
(Siena 1928), pp. 53-170.

Rapisardi-Mirahelli: C. da S. e la concezione della guerra. Letture Cateriniane
(Siena 1928), pp. 173-214.

Pepc: La politica di una santa (Trapani 1934).

F. Battaglia: Idee politichc in S. C. da S. B.S. XLIV (1937), pp. 223-242.

E. Jordan: S. C. de S. un homme d’etat? Revue des etudes italiennes (1938),
pp. 93 - 114 -

BIBLIOGRAPHY 403

Denis-Boulet: La carriere politique de S. C. de S. (Paris 1939).

A. Puccetti: II regime cristiano in S. C. (Florence 1944).

VII. The Saint in the Val d’Orcia

Lazzareschi: S. C. in Val d’Orcia (Florence 1915).

Lazzareschi: S. C. in Val d’Orcia. Nazione (Florence, 2nd June, 1937).

D. G. Nardi: S. C. a Rocca d’Orcia. Solenni Fcstc nazionali a gloria di S. C. da

S. (Siena 1940), pp. 81-83.

VIII. St Catherine in Florence

A . Ghcrardi: La guerra dei fiorentini con Papa Gregorio XI (Florence 1868).

N. Tomtnaseo: Moti fiorentini del 1378 de’ quali ebbe C. da S. a patirc. Archivio
Storico Italiano XII (i860), pp. 21-45.

J. Perrens: Histoire de Florence. Vol. V (Paris 1880), pp. 195-215.

IX. St Catherine's Last Years

F. Blienietzrieder: Raimund von Capua und K. von S. zu Beginn des grossen

abendlandischen Schismas. Historisches Jahrbuch XXX (1909), pp. 231-
247.

E. Duprd-Theseider: Sulla dimora romana di C. da S. Atti del II 0 Congresso

nazionalc di Studi Romani II (Rome 1931), PP- I 5 I_I 53 -
M. H. Laurent: S. C. da S. e il B. Raimondo da Capua ambasciatore della S.

Sede presso Carlo V. S.C. XII (1936), pp. 1-51.

A. Zttcchi: Roma domenicana. Note Storiche (Florence 1938), pp. 16-24.

X. Relics

S. Lomhardelli: Ragguaglio delle traslazioni della santa testa di S. C. da S.
(Siena 1593).

G. T. Musetti: Mcmorie . . . delle varie traslazioni delle sante ossa di C. da S.

(Siena 1846).

Folli: Della cappa e di alcune reliquie di S. C. da S. conservate a Venezia. M.D.
(1921), pp. 258-271.

A. G. Palagi: La testa di S. C. da S. e lc sue varie urne (Siena 1931).

G. Gazzi: Intomo allc reliquie di S. C. da S. M.D. (1930)- Publ. separately,
Rome 1935.

D. Grassi: I due ‘Tesori’ Cateriniani a Siena. Solenni Feste a gloria di S. C. da S.
patrona d’ltalia (Siena 1940), pp. 91-92.

XI. Iconography

L. Courajod: Le portrait de S. C. de S. e la collection Timbol au musec du
Louvre. Mem. Soc. Antiq. France (1882).

404 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

P. Rossi: Per Piconografia di C. Benincasa neiT arte senese del Rinascimcnto
B.S. XV (1908).

R. Fawtier: Sur lc portrait dc S. C. de S. M.A.H. (1912).

G. Fame: Pilgrimages cn Italie (Paris 1920).

L. Donati: S. C. nellc stampe del’ 400 S.C. I. (1923).

L. Ferretti: S. C. da S. (Rome 1924).

A. Grifoni: S. C. e il Sodoma S. C. IV (1924), pp. 101-117.

E. Dtiprd-Thcseider: Per Piconografia di S. C. da S. S.C. IV (1927), pp. 100-105.
P. Bacci: Il pittore Matteo Preti da Siena. I. La canonizzazione di C. da S. B.S.
(1930), pp. 72-84.

Pope-Hemiessy: Giovanni di Paolo (London 1937).

A. Lauri: S. C. da Siena nelP arte italiana. Latina Gens XVII (1939), pp. 172-176.
A. Lauri: S. C. da S. nelP arte italiana. M.D. (1939), pp. 271-286.

Spinillo: Saggio iconografico Catcriniano. V.C. XH (1940), pp. 297-304.

C. Costantini: S. C. e Parte M.D. (July-October 1940).

P. Bacci: Ricerchc della vita del pittore senese Giovanni di Paolo. Le Arti IV
(1941), pp. 12-13.

M. H. Laurent: S. C. da S. e il Borgognoni B.S. XIII (1942), pp. 221-226.

P. Bacci: La Cappella delle Suore della Penitcnza detta delle Volte B.S. (1942).
C. Brandi: Giovanni di Paolo (Florence 1947), pp. 38-46.

G. Kaftal: St C. in Tuscan Paintings. Blackfriars (Oxford 1949).

WORKS
I. Lettere

(a) MSS.

Dupri-Theseider has studied 55 MSS. of the Lettere, and considers 27 of these
to be genuine collections, to be grouped under three names:

(1) Neri di Landoccio Pagliaresi.

(2) Stefano di Corrado Maconi.

(3) Fra Tommaso di Antonio, commonly called Caffarini.

The first two groups are by far the most important.

(1) The Palatine MS 3514, National Library, Vienna, was discovered by Dupre-

Theseider, who asserts its ‘exceptional importance’; the Magliabechiano
XXXVIII, 130, National Library, Florence, is ‘the oldest MS. of the Lettere
of which we have certain knowledge’; the Magliabechiano XXXV, 199,
is ‘most interesting and of fundamental importance’.

(2) The most important are: MS. A.D. XIII 34, Braidense Library, Milan; the

Varia MS. 155 Royal Library, Turin; the Palatino 57, National Library,
Florence, which ‘deserves great attention for the accuracy of the text’;
die MS. 292, Casanatcnse Library, Rome, which ‘deserves the same con¬
sideration as die Viennese MS. and the two Magliabecliiani MSS. of
Florence’.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

405

(b) Printed editions

1942 Epistole utile e devote della beata c serafica vergine S.C. etc. [31 letters—
defective text]. Printed by Zohanne Jacomo de Fontanesi. Bologna.

1500 Epistolae devotissime di S. C. da S. etc. (353 letters). Collected by Fra
Bartholomco de Alzano da Bergamo, edited by Aldo Manuzio.

This edition was printed three times in Venice 1548, 1562, 1564. In the
18th century G. Gigli, with the co-operation of the Jesuit Burlamacchi,
produced a new edition. One vol., no. Ill of the Opcre, was published in
Siena at the printing press of Francesco Quinza, 1713. Another vol., no. II
of die Opcre, was published at Lucca by Leonardo Venturitii.

1842-1844 Reprint by Sorio of Gigli’s ed. in Bibliotcca Ecclcsiastica (Incomplete).
i860 Lettcre edited by Niccolo Tonunaseo. Barbera—Florence.

1913 Tommaseo edition re-publ. by Misciatelli. Ed. by Giuntini and Bcnti-
voglio. Five vols. Siena 1925 Vol. VI added to Misciatelli’s Letterc, con¬
taining Letters discovered by Motzo and Gardner, and Letters of die
Disciples, already publ. by Grottanelli (Bologna 1863). Whole edition
re-publ. by Marzocco (Florence I 939 - I 94 °)-
1918-1930 Letterc di S. C. da S. vergine e domcnicana cd. Padre Lodovico
Ferretti, O.P. (Siena). ^ f

1940 The long awaited critical edition, ‘Epistole di S. C. da S. E. Duprt£-
Theseider. Rome. 1st vol. already publ. contains 88 letters.

(c) English translation

V. D. Scudder: Letters of St Cadierinc of Siena. Dent. (London 1905)

II. The Dialogo

(a) The most important MSS. arc the Senese T.U, 9 of the Bibl. Comunale,
Siena; the Casanatcnse MS. 292 of the Bibl. Casanatensc, Rome, the Estense T.5
of the Bibl. of Modena.

(b) Printed editions

1472 Baldassare Azzaguidi. Publ. Bologna.

1478 Francesco di Dino, Bernardo de Dacia , IVernerus Raptor and Conradus Bone-
bach. Printers in Naples.

1483, 1494 Mattheo Codeca da Parma. Venice.

1496 Bernardino de Misintri di Pavia. Brescia.

The 16th century saw numerous editions: 1511 Ferrara, 1517,1540, 1547 , 1579 ,
1589 Venice.

1611 Sarzina edition, Venice.

1707 G. Gigli. Vol. IV of Opcre. Siena.

1912 Fiorilli. Bari. 2nd ed. revised by Caramella 1928.

1928 I. Taurisano. Florence.

1937 Puccetti. Siena.

1946 Rovasenda. Dialogo della Divina Providenza. Turin.

1947 Taurisano. Dialogo. Rome.

40 6 MY SERVANT CATHERINE

(c) English Translations of the Dialogo

Dane James: Publ. Wynkyn de Wordc (London 1519). Called ‘The Orchade of
Syon’; it is a translation of a Latin translation.

A. Thorold: ed. Kcgan and Paul (London 1896, 1906).

III. The Preghiere

The Preghiere exist in Italian and Latin. Codex Scnese T.n 7, and codex Vien¬
nese palatino 3514 discovered by Dupre-Thcseider. First printed edition
Brescia 1496.

I. Taurisano: Preghiere ed Elevazioni di S. C. da S. (Rome 1920, 1932).

The Bibliography at the end of Arrigo Levasti’s 'Santa Caterina da Siena'
contains further detailed information under the headings: St C.'s Disciples,
Poetry inspired by St C. in her own life-time, Anthologies of St C.’s works,
Analyses of Codices and Texts, Language and Style, Theology, The Ascetic
and Mystic, Comparisons, and Various Studies.

THEOLOGY LIBRARY
CLAREMONT, CALIF.